Believer
by Seyyed
Summary: Cassandra, daughter of Priam and sister to Hector and Paris, is blessed with seeing what is to come, but cursed to never be believed. Thought mad by her own people, can an enemy become more when he alone seems to believe what no one else will? !HIATUS!
1. Chapter 1

:Summary: Cassandra, daughter of Priam and sister to Hector and Paris, is blessed with seeing what is to come, but cursed to never be believed. Thought mad by her own people, can an enemy become more when he alone seems to believe what no one else will? Achilles/OC. Movie Canon.

:Disclaimer: I do not own 'Troy' or any of the characters associated with the film or the writings pertaining to it or them in any way. I technically don't even own my OC – All I have is individual events that make up this story.

* * *

Chapter One

"_Men are haunted by the vastness of eternity…"_

"_And so we ask ourselves: Will our actions echo across the centuries?"_

"_Will strangers hear our names long after we're gone?"_

"_And wonder who we were? How bravely we fought?"_

"…_How fiercely we loved?"_

_Sunlight streaked hot and angry across the sun scorched dessert plain. The crunch of hooves and sandaled feet over cracked and dried earth sent dust up into the air, the remains of men long dead and gone, where the men and their horses and their kings breathed them in._

_A sea of men parted for a golden warrior, a warlord loved so dearly by the Gods._

_The sickening crunch of a spear embedded in a shield._

_The killing blow to a neck left unprotected._

_The Lion prowled before the Lambs, baiting and eager, watching like a starved beast._

_He breathed in the dust of past warriors as the dust took flight around his feet. It curled around his nose and filled his lungs with the power of Gods. A restless immortal hidden in the shell of a man – blessed to be remembered always and forever, but doomed to die. Life filled his every move, but it would not last… the shadow of death hung over him like the black clouds of a cursed voyage. It followed him, licking at his heels, ravenous and hungry to consume the light that glowed from his sun darkened skin and golden mane…_

A soft sound of disappointment hummed at the back of her throat, her brow twitching with vague and halfhearted distress. "…what a pity."

Briseis frowned at her cousin, "What?"

"…the lion will die."

The two cousins were standing side by side in the as they and the rest of Troy awaited the return of their princes. In the distance cries of joy and welcome could be heard echoing off the stone columns of Trojan homes and buildings. The cries drew nearer and nearer with each passing second.

Briseis gave the other girl a befuddled look. "Lion? What are you talking about, Cassandra?"

"The shadow of death follows him…" The Trojan princess continued with a distracted voice, dark eyes distant and vacant. Her gaze turned to Briseis, clearing and focusing on her cousin's soft face. "But his is darker than yours or mine… he will die a painful death. Slow and miserable. I find it rather sad…."

Briseis frowned again, regarding her cousin with a disapproving stare. "You're brothers are safe and home; what are you doing daydreaming silly stories of lions and shadows?"

"It's not a story," Cassandra insisted halfheartedly. She already knew Briseis would call her a liar. "He will die… and I think a lamb will be his killer."

"A lamb is going to kill a lion?" Cassandra nodded and Briseis scoffed at her, "Enough, cousin. No more stories. Look… see? Here come your brothers, welcome them home. No more talk of lions and lambs."

Briseis turned to watch as the princes of Troy were embraced in turn by their kingly father, a smile spreading across her face. She hurried off then to greet her cousins as well, the white of her priestess robes slapping at her ankles. Cassandra watched her go, watched as her brothers embraced their cousin. She felt a pang of bitterness in her chest as she watched their happy faces; they all thought she was a liar, or at the very least insane. Lions and lambs… it made no sense to her either, but she knew it was true. The things she saw were always true, but never believed – even when they came to pass, no one believed she'd known it would happen.

"Is it really so horrible to be seeing us again?"

Cassandra lifted her gaze as a voice chuckled to her; her eyes settled onto those of her beloved elder brother, Hector. A smile immediately warmed her face and she breathed an apology as he smiled back. The crown prince of Troy looped his long, strong arms around his little sister and embraced her close to his broad chest. He smelled of saltwater and wind and Cassandra breathed it in deep while his embrace tightened around her; a wave of relief washed over her as the brilliant man pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Cassandra…" Hector soothed a palm over her dark curls, "my beautiful sister. I've missed you."

"And you, I, brother." Her eyes shot over the man's shoulder, brow twitching and lips smirking upon seeing Helen of Sparta. "I see you've brought more than a treaty of peace back home with you…"

Hector sighed and shook his head, "No, that is your brother's prize."

"Paris is your brother as well…"

"Not today, it seems." The younger Trojan prince said. He approached his siblings with a comfortable face despite the tension that had captured his voice while looking at Hector. Paris too enveloped his sister in a tight hug.

"My heart sores to see you well, sister." Paris told Cassandra with a kiss of his own to her pale face, "You kept yourself out of trouble, I assume."

"More so then you, dear brother, I assure…" She smirked at the prince, her brow arched high over dark eyes that gave another pointed glance back at the lovely blonde woman standing not quit out of ear shot. She gave the nervous woman a small smile and jutted her chin out towards her, "Introduce me to your lovely lady, Paris?"

Paris sighed around his own smile as he drew Helen in to his side and presented her to the Trojan princess. "Cassandra, this is Helen. Helen, this is my little sister, Cassandra."

Helen bowed her head politely, her expression tight with nerves and eyes full of fear. She smiled, but it did not reach her bright eyes; the poor thing was scared to death. Cassandra couldn't blame her. Her being here, she had much to be afraid of. The Trojan princess reached out and embraced the other woman, pressing a sisterly kiss to one blonde temple and then to the other.

"Welcome home, sister." Cassandra told the other sincerely, smiling warmly to Troy's newest princess.

The breath that left Helen then was the deepest sigh of relief Cassandra had ever heard or felt; the poor thing looked as though she might cry even as a true smile lit up her glowing face. "Thank you."

Cassandra nodded, chuckling lightly as she released the blonde and she could see the beaming, prideful smile on Paris' face from the corner of her eye. She took hold of Helen's slim hand, clasping it tight in her own and keeping her new 'sister' close to her side as though she had been a part of her family all along; Cassandra chuckled again, "I've been wondering when Paris would finally bring you home here to us with him. I've come here to welcome my brothers home many times, wondering each time if it would be the day you'd come up those steps with him…and today you finally have."

Helen's brow twisted into confusion, not understanding. And Paris laughed, the sound coming out as though it were more to himself then to anyone around him; he shook his head and placed a hand on Helen's back with an amused look as he explained, "My sister enjoys telling stories. Prophecies, she calls them. She's very creative, you will see."

Cassandra only smiled as Helen's face relaxed and the pair enjoyed a moment of amusement over Paris' explanation. She let the moment pass, silent despite the hurt that had bloomed deep in her chest. Of course… once again she was cast aside as a silly girl with a flair for storytelling. It was better than being called a liar, she supposed, or crazy, but not by very much. It still stung no matter how used to it she became – she'd known Helen of Sparta would come to Troy on the arm of her brother for nearly a year now. And she knew the greed of Agamemnon and the bitter rage of Menelaus followed close behind. Soon the Greeks would be at Troy's gates… but no one had believed her when she'd first shared this prediction and no one believed her now that it was coming true.

Every time she tried to warn her father or her brothers or cousin of things to come, good or bad, she was laughed off. She was called a colorful storyteller or a liar or a silly girl with her head too far lost up in the clouds; at times she even felt as though her family were almost ashamed of her. And she angered her father whenever he caught wind of her sharing her foresights – such a claim as seeing the future was a gift that belonged to the Gods and the Gods alone. She mocked them with her stories, he would tell her.

_'Damn the Gods and their gifts!'_ she thought, _'The fault is theirs.'_

Hearing her brothers laugh her off was still far worse than her father's anger or disappointment though. It was her curse though, and she had lived with it for many years now; still… she wondered if she would ever become numb to the pain in her chest. She wondered if she'd ever find anyone, she wondered if there even _was_ anyone, who would ever believe her.

Just one person, just once… it would be nice to have someone believe in her.

* * *

REVIEWS are greatly appreciated!

Also, chapters will get longer - This is only the opening...


	2. Chapter 2

:Summary: Cassandra, daughter of Priam and sister to Hector and Paris, is blessed with seeing what is to come, but cursed to never be believed. Thought mad by her own people, can an enemy become more when he alone seems to believe what no one else will? Achilles/OC. Movie Canon.

:Disclaimer: I do not own 'Troy' or any of the characters associated with the film or the writings pertaining to it or them in any way. I technically don't even own my OC – All I have is individual events that make up this story.

* * *

Chapter Two

A heavy mind is a trying thing for a man to bear and even Achilles was staggered, nearly stumbling with the weight of his own thoughts. Should he go to Troy or remain in his home in Lárisa? If the war was truly a thing of legend never to be forgotten, could he afford to miss it? For two days since Odysseus' visit he had mulled and troubled and pondered over the choices he had left to him – his thirst for immortality clawed and howled to be set loose on Troy from within him, but his heart longed for other things. Things he could not even rightly begin to name; his heart longed for a reality to mirror the calm and peace he sometimes felt in dreams, while the beast of his soul demanded war.

Patroclus' mind seemed to have decided for itself easy enough – he would go to Troy with or without Achilles' permission or guidance. Was he to leave his cousin to fend off the wolves himself? Could he send the boy off to immortalize his own name in favor of a lifetime spent on the shore as a fading memory of soldiers and nothing more?

He doubted it. But still… the prospect of peace, for both his mind and his body, was a tempting possibility.

Achilles' mind tossed and turned, undecided and sore form thought, as he wandered down the pale stretch of soft sand at the sea's edge where his mother found residence. He could see her headed to the water's edge as he gave pause to the sight of her, brow furrowed heavily under the weight of his troubles. He climbed down to her slowly, wading out behind her as she bent to collect favored shells from between the rocks.

"I knew they would come for you. Long before you were born…" she spoke over her shoulder to him, sensing his presence without needing to look and see, "…I knew they could come." She turned to him then and the concern in her knowing eyes caused another indecisive flip in his mind. "They want you to fight in Troy."

Perhaps he truly was meant to leave this comfortable home by the sea for the battles that waited beyond it. He turned his eyes out towards the horizon; it was a fuzzy, distorted line of blue and blue where sky met sea – Was long sought after immortality destined to be his?

"I'm making you another seashell necklace," Thetis jumped topics. She was eager to divert her son's attention from the thoughts turning his blond head and the serious decision he would soon have to make. But Achilles could see from the tight upturn of her lips, the false smile on her 

lovely face, that she could not stop thinking about it herself any more then he could. "Like the one's I used to make you when you were a boy." She collected another fine, shining shell with a smile that stretched a bit more sincerely, "Do you remember?"

He nodded slightly, inspecting a small bit of shell he'd picked up from the water. She faced him; the sigh from him then was heavy and tired. "Mother…" he tossed the bit of shell, unimpressed or interested in it, and crossed his arms, "…tonight, I decide."

Smile evaporating from her face like it had never been there to begin with, Thetis dropped her gaze from her son's expectant face. She toyed with her shells thoughtfully, anxiously. "If you stay in Lárisa," she began hesitantly, "you will find peace. You will find a wonderful woman. You will have sons and daughters, and they will have children. And they will love you. And when you are gone, they will remember you." She took a deep breath before continuing, knowing already what decision her son would make and dreading it, "But when your children are dead and their children after them… your name will be lost."

"If you go to Troy…" she approached him then, slow steps bringing her close enough to touch, "glory will be yours."

The beast within him howled at her words, mind overcoming heart in that single breath taking moment. His destiny was clear to him now.

"They will write stories about your victories for thousands of years," she continued, saddened by the sharp desire in his wandering eyes. "The world will remember your name. But if you go to Troy…" Thetis reached up and cupped the side of her only son's face; devastated but strong, "you will never come home. For your glory walks hand in hand with your doom. And I shall never see you again."

Achilles looked to the beckoning horizon once again. His mind was made, finally – he would go to Troy. There was no way he could possibly hope to settle in humble Lárisa now with his long desired need for eternal glory staring him in the face. It was finally his for the taking if he'd only just reach out…

"I dreamed of peace again," Achilles spoke slowly with his gaze trained on the horizon. "Not here in Lárisa." He turned his eyes down to his mother; his brow bending thoughtfully, "Is it possible to find glory and peace in the same place?"

"In Troy?" Thetis asked and watched as he nodded. She sighed and turned her back to her son, searching out more shells for the promised necklace, "…yes. The decisions you make in Troy may take you elsewhere beyond glory; perhaps to peace… but be warned, son. She will be your undoing."

"She?"

Thetis glanced back at the blond, expression bare but knowing; she studied the shells in the palm of her hand, appearing to count through them before looking back at her son with clear eyes and a tight lipped smile. "Sometimes the heart is wiser then the mind."

The frown that enveloped Achilles' face made her small smile grow at the edges, "I do not understand."

"You will in time… depending on the decisions you make." The cryptic explanation was all she offered as she went back to her shells and the water around her shins. "I think," she smiled as she found the last shell she desired and then began back towards the shore and her hut, "that you should give her this necklace if you should ever meet her. It'd look lovely on her."

Shaking his head, confused but amused, Achilles just followed his mystic mother up on the sand once more. "Very well," he played along. "But how shall I know her when I meet her?"

"She'll make a believer out of you," Thetis chuckled as though the answer had been obvious and disappeared into her hut to string the shells she'd found together.

Achilles frowned again as he hesitated before following the woman inside, "A believer of what?"

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

Cassandra swallowed the exasperated sigh that threatened to bubble up her throat, trying as hard as she could to be polite and patient with her new 'sister'. It was getting harder though and she prayed Helen would tire of this game of hers soon, if she didn't… Cassandra didn't know what she would do. She did not want to hurt the blonde woman's feelings, she truly enjoyed Helen's company and had grown very fond of her over the last few days, but she was tired of the game herself. All morning long she had spent her time sitting with Helen in one of the palace's high courtyard gardens, one that looked out over Troy and onwards towards the shores and ocean; they'd spent their time there with Helen asking Cassandra to recount a number of her predictions, her stories.

Helen enjoyed stories herself, so it seemed.

"Tell me another?" Helen asked for what seemed like the thousandth time in the last hour; her face was calm and relaxed, no trace of the nervousness she'd worn when she'd first arrived in Troy left. She was lounging back on the cushions that had been lain out for them to rest on, smiling pleasantly at the Trojan princess. "You tell the most wonderful stories, Cassandra. They're so clever."

Clever.

That was a new one.

Cassandra forced a smile, shrugging her shoulders, "I don't think I've anymore to tell."

"Oh, please?" Helen grinned, sitting up a bit, "You said these were all predictions from the past – things that have already happened by now. Like Paris bringing me here and the Lion fighting in Thessaly… can't you tell me something else? Something that hasn't come to pass yet?"

Cassandra did sigh then, gaze dropping to the skirt of her dark blue dress that fanned out around her lounging body. Her dark brows gathered together above her eyes in a small frown; Helen meant well, Cassandra knew she did, but this was all a means of amusement to her. She called them prophecies and predictions because that was part of the game to her; she didn't really believe that Cassandra had predicted these things she was telling her before they'd happened...

"I don't know anymore," Cassandra shook her head slowly. "I'm sorry, Helen."

"Nothing? Not even just one more?"

"Well…" the Trojan princess tilted her head and closed her eyes as she thought. "The Lion…"

"What about him?" The smile on Helen's face was audible in her voice; she sounded like she'd won some great battle of wits. Further proof that what Cassandra told her was nothing but sport to her.

"I've seen him many times lately," Cassandra confessed. "I see him in my dreams at night and he's in my head during the day. Sometimes it's from far off and then sometimes I see him so clearly it is as though I'm standing right beside him. I know his face like I've known him forever and I know his voice, though I've never heard him speak. He's like the sun… he's a lion among mere men, more fierce and powerful than any man neither you nor I have ever known. He's a mortal God."

"What is happening when you see him?" Helen's voice was excited and eager to listen; she sounded very much like a young gossip hanging off the words of a fellow scandalmonger. The sound left a foul taste in Cassandra's mouth, but she was beyond entertaining Helen; what she shared now was more a means of clearing her mind and making sense of her own thoughts.

"Battles, death… he is a warrior and always has been. War is all he knows, but his true battles wage within his own mind. Everything about him is so chaotic and wild…" Cassandra's eyes grew wide and unfocused while she spoke, "And he's going to die."

"Yes," Helen chimed in. "You said the Lion would be killed by a Lamb. Rather odd, don't you think?"

Cassandra shrugged, "He will die the night Troy falls."

Helen frowned at that, "When Troy falls? Then he must… live forever," the blonde smiled uncertainly, suddenly looking nervous again. "Troy will never fall… will it?"

Cassandra opened her eyes to stare the other woman full in the face. Her silence obviously made Helen uncomfortable and she watched the blonde shift and fidget on their cushions. Finally, the Trojan princess sighed and shrugged slowly, "…I don't know."

"Cassandra," Paris' reprimanding voice chided her from behind the two women. Obviously having been listening in for a small while, he came up to them, frowning down at his little sister, "Don't go around saying these sorts of things. Troy will never fall and you know it; don't fill Helen's head with doubt and certainly don't let father find out you were even suggesting such things!"

"I didn't say it would fall," Cassandra scowled up at the dark haired prince. "I merely said the Lion would die the night Troy fell – I don't know for sure if the city will fall or not. Perhaps the man is meant to live forever?"

"Enough," Paris ordered; Cassandra found the commanding tone odd coming from the slighter prince. The man was not all that commanding, not nearly so much as their brother Hector. The only attention he seemed to command was that of lovely women, so the thought of Paris ordering her around was downright funny – not that Cassandra laughed. She knew it was all for show for Helen.

The prince lowered himself to his hunches at the blonde's side, the two sharing a kiss. He playfully scowled at Helen as well, "What are you two doing out here anyway?"

"Oh, Cassandra was sharing some of her stories with me." Helen replied pleasantly, earning herself a frown from Paris.

"And what kind of nonsense are you filling her head with, Cassandra?" He asked of his sister and Cassandra balked, scandalized.

"It isn't all nonsense, Paris." Cassandra felt that hot pain in her chest again as he brother rolled his eyes, "It isn't! I've seen things; I've known things long before they've happened!"

"No," Paris held up a silencing finger to the girl, "Things have happened and you've come up with colorful stories about how you knew it would come to pass long before it did."

"So, I'm a liar then, am I?" Cassandra's voice had dropped, sounding thick with hurt and fringed with anger. Helen was looking nervously between the siblings, clearly unsure of what she was supposed to do.

"Cassandra…" Paris sighed; Cassandra was never more aware of the fact that he hadn't answered her as she suddenly was now. "You just need to understand that when you make these wild claims of yours it makes other people wonder…"

"Wonder what?"

"Well," he hesitated, "I've heard people talk, Cassandra. Most of our people think you mad…"

"And you?" She demanded hoarsely, "What does my family think? Do they think me mad?"

"No, Cassandra…"

"No, of course not. None of you believe me, but none of you will admit you think I've lost my mind either!" She snapped harshly at her brother, "Cowards."

"Shall we say it to your face then?" Paris snapped right back.

"It's better than whispering it behind my back!" Her chest grew tight as she shouted at the dark haired prince, "If you say it to my face then I can defend myself! I can tell you that it isn't so and that what I see is true! I'm not a liar and I am not crazy!"

"Paris," Helen touched the prince's arm to still his voice. "I… I asked Cassandra to tell me stories. Really, I did. Don't be upset with her; it was my fault."

Cassandra appreciated the blonde's attempt to help her; Helen was such a sweet woman. It still didn't take the sting out of Paris' words and Cassandra felt her throat go dry and her face get hot; the need to cry was nearly overwhelming, but she managed to hold it in.

"Cassandra, you're suggesting that Troy might fall…" Paris shook his head, pressing on despite Helen's asking him not to. "Our walls cannot be breached, you know that. If word gets out that you claim the city will meet its end, what are we and others to think?"

"It's the truth, Paris." Cassandra ground out, trying to sound calmer than she really felt, "I've seen a Lion and he's coming here with the Greeks. He will startle and amaze our city and he will tear his way through our lives like a blade, and he will be killed by a Lamb the night Troy falls. What can that mean for Troy other then that the city will perish by the end of this war?"

"Do you hear what you're saying, Cassandra?" Paris' face was twisted in an expression his sister couldn't really put a name to; he looked startled and disgusted and confused all at once. "A Lion and a Lamb and the fall of Troy… do you hear yourself?"

Cassandra stared at her brother, head shaking side to side slowly and brows drawing tight over her tear filled dark eyes. She heaved a heavy sigh, bowing her head in defeat for a moment before forcing herself up onto her feet. "I'm wasting my time trying to make you see. If you won't open your eyes to the truth you can be nothing but blind to it…"

"Cassandra…"

The princess ignored her brother, turning her eyes to a still nervous looking Helen. She smiled, "Thank you for the company, Helen. I'm sorry to leave you like this, but I fear I must go clear my head." She shot her brother a piercing looking, "Before I truly do lose my mind."

The blonde nodded, smiling uncertainly as Cassandra left her and Paris in the garden.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

Cassandra's afternoon was no better than her morning; perhaps, she began to think, it was even worse! Her morning had been dull and annoying, but at least she hadn't suffered through heartache in Helen's presence. Paris had truly wounded her with his sharp, ignorant tongue and she still felt the sting as she leaned against one of the dozen pillars that lined the hall, her cheek pressed tight against the cool marble and eyes staring out intimately towards the sea. From this far away she could only just barely make out the vague outlines of waves licking playfully at the shores; the wind snatch at her hair like a toddler hungry for attention, but Cassandra paid it no mind as it pulled wispy curls out from the silver clasps holding it all up and back.

Lost in her own mind, Cassandra didn't hear the shuffle of her brother's sandals on the floor as he approached and joined her by the pillar. "Contemplating the cosmos?" Hector's amused voice made his sister jump.

"Oh, Hector…" Cassandra offered a small welcoming smile to her elder brother before turning her face away again, "You surprised me; I didn't hear you coming."

"Well, I could hear your thinking from across the palace…" Hector smiled at his sister, coming up to stand beside her. His smile faltered slightly as he studied her face, "What troubles you?"

She only shook her head, silent.

"Cassandra," he sighed patiently and pressed his palm warmly against her back, "what troubles you, sister?"

She kept her eyes on the fuzzy waves at and beyond the shores, comforted and calmed by the man's broad hand on her back. The urge to turn into his chest and weep out every frustration and sorrow burned hot in her chest. "Hector…" she began hesitantly, "do you think me ill?"

"Ill?" He frowned at her profile, "In what manner?"

"Do you think me ill of mind?" She clarified, "All of Troy thinks me mad. And so do Paris and father."

"What nonsense is this?" Hector chuckled at her, rubbing his palm soothingly against her shoulder blades, "No one thinks so ill of you, Cassandra. Who told you such a thing?"

"There are whispers everywhere. And Paris confirmed this morning…" She took a deep breath, "and he said you, he and father all believe the same. Is it true? Do you think I've lost my mind, Hector?"

"Of course not!" His voice had grown tight in clear irritation to what she'd said, "Paris does not know of what he speaks. Don't listen to the absurd things he says."

"But you don't believe in my predictions either, do you?"

"Cassandra…" he sighed again and she could feel his mind turning as he spoke, "You are a smart girl, perhaps wiser then is your due, but I have never questioned that. I cannot pretend to understand how you come up with the stories you tell; perhaps they are prophecies and I've been ignorant. Perhaps they are simply something the rest of the world is just incapable of understanding – I believe your mind is a higher thing then most. I don't understand your stories because I cannot begin to understand where they come from." He smiled at her, "But I hardly think you mad."

She nodded slowly as he finished, relieved at least to hear sincerity in his voice. It had not been what she'd wanted to hear; she'd have liked to hear that he really did believe her, but she knew better. At least he wasn't calling her a liar like Paris had or growing angry like father; Hector was much easier with his words then the rest of her family. He was always careful with what he said, each word purposeful and well thought out.

"I could tell you where they come from," Cassandra offered after a moment of silence between them.

"I'd love to hear," His hand left her back, but the warmth was still there.

She hesitated; unsettled by not knowing how her brother would react. Their father had been furious after she'd told him this same thing a year before. "Apollo."

"The sun god?" He smiled, "I'd have thought it was a gift of the Muses rather than Apollo."

"It is no clever gift," she frowned to herself. "Apollo cursed me to see and never be believed."

"I see…" he studied her profile thoughtfully. "But why would he do that? You've always honored the gods."

"I scorned him," She replied simply.

"Perhaps apology is in order then."

"Why should I?" She turned her frown towards him, "I did nothing wrong."

"You said you scorned him," Hector pointed out. "Don't you think that unwise?"

"I could do nothing else," she explained.

"What was it he asked of you that you could not do?"

She only shook her head, not willing to share. She'd learned with her father that it was best not to share some things.

"Very well; I will not pry," Hector nodded understandingly and Cassandra thanked him softly for it. He nodded towards the shore after, hand returning to her back once more, "But I do believe you should at the very least pay a visit to the temple. Perhaps if you were to explain yourself to him, Apollo would not harbor any ill will towards you."

"I doubt it," she sighed, looking towards the shore apprehensively.

Hector shrugged, "Perhaps not. It's possible for a god to hold a grudge same as a man, I suppose. But I don't think it could hurt to try, do you?"

"No… I suppose not." She sighed, clearly dreading the visit.

"It will be better then never trying at all." She smiled, "And perhaps then you will not spend your time with such a serious look on your face. A lovely girl like you should be enjoying her days, not staring at the horizon, forlorn and troubling under a heavy mind." He shook his head, "I was disappointed to hear you are no less opposed to marriage now as you were when I left for Sparta…"

She made a sour sound, "Oh, Hector, please don't start with this again."

"Father is concerned."

"Let him be," she replied a bit harshly, "It makes no difference to me."

"And does my concern make no difference to you either?"

Cassandra turned up a sheepish and apologetic look to her brother, "…don't be concerned. It's nothing to be concerned about."

"I want to see you happy, Cassandra, and well cared for." He explained, "As do Paris and father."

"I am fine," she assured. "I do not want for anything as I am."

"A husband would do you well." He gave her a troubled look, "You've had dozens of suitors, Cassandra. Did not even one appeal to you?"

She scowled heavily at the mentioning on her past suitors. "They were all the same breed with the same mind and intentions. Not a one of them asked for me by love or care, they all asked for me by title alone." She sent her brother a wounded look, "You loved Andromache when you married and Paris will marry for his love for Helen… am I not permitted to marry for love the same as you and he?"

"Sometimes it is best to agree to a smart match and learn to love…"

She shook her head, "Marriage without love is never a smart match. Helen is proof of that."

Hector relented after that, knowing no amount of arguing the point of marriage would make Cassandra open to the idea. She was set in her opinion and there was no moving her. He shook his head, looking exasperated but lips turned upward just at the edges, "…so then, how long am I to wait before I see you happily married for love?"

"I fear the gods themselves don't even know," she chuckled and stared out towards the beckoning horizon once more.

* * *

REVIEWS are highly appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

:Summary: Cassandra, daughter of Priam and sister to Hector and Paris, is blessed with seeing what is to come, but cursed to never be believed. Thought mad by her own people, can an enemy become more when he alone seems to believe what no one else will? Achilles/OC. Movie Canon.

:Disclaimer: I do not own 'Troy' or any of the characters associated with the film or the writings pertaining to it or them in any way. I technically don't even own my OC – All I have is individual events that make up this story.

**SPECIAL THANKS TO REVIEWERS: **beachgal, Hikari Mibu, Happycookbook, xAdelinex

_Sorry this took so long to get out, guys. I was able to get home sooner then I thought I would and the first thing I did was fetch this story! Thanks for your patience and understanding!_

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

Chapter Three

Cassandra smiled as Astyanax's face lit up at her, delighting in the small giggles of the baby's cooing while she played with him and the carved lion Hector had crafter for him. The youngest prince of Troy curled a fist around the length of the toy and brought it to his mouth to gnaw at it happily, carefree and calm – Cassandra envied the child's ease and pleasure for life, his naivety and innocence was something she'd long since forgotten the feeling of in herself.

"He's such a happy babe," Cassandra turned her smile to her sister in law, Andromache. "He has a smile to rival the sun. Imagine the sight he'll be when he's grown!"

"Like his father, if he's lucky," Andromache nodded and the two women chuckled over it.

"Pray he will be as just and honorable as his father as well," Cassandra added. She titled her head down to Astyanax, smiling at the young boy and speaking slowly to him, "There is no man greater than your father, little one. None so handsome or wise – you've quite the name to live up to!" Astyanax smiled wide and stretched out his arms and legs happily at the sound of her voice and look on her face. Cassandra chuckled softly again, cradling the child in one arm and smoothing her free hand along the top and back of his head.

The future queen of Troy watched her husband's sister whisper to and fawn over her son with a warm and pleasant smile on her face. Cassandra's dark eyes were never as bright as they were when she held Asyanax; all the troubles that usually shadowed and paled her lovely face seemed to evaporate from the pours of her skin whenever she held to child. "A child on your arm does you well, Cassandra." She told the other woman sincerely, "You'll make a fine mother someday."

Cassandra only laughed; the sound was soft as she shook her head, "The thought of being a mother is no good to a woman who isn't even a wife."

"You are young," Andromache shrugged calmly. "A husband will come in time."

"If only my father were so understanding and patient as you, sister." Cassandra sighed to herself, still smiling even as the discouraged sound came out of her. She shook her head, clearly imagining, "What a day that would be…"

"It is the way of any father," Andromache assured. "Mine was the same just before I met your brother. And the fathers of our mothers were the same with them. A father is always eager to see his daughter's future secured."

"That may be, but mine seems more eager to just have me gone from him…"

"You father loves you, Cassandra." Andromache looped her arm around the other's shoulders and leaned her forehead against her temple, "As do you brothers and I." She smiled as Astyanax gurgled loudly, "And of course, so does Astyanax."

Cassandra pressed a kiss to the child's head – Astyanax had the most beautiful blue eyes; so different from either his mother or his father. Priam claimed the pale orbs were a blessing of the gods; Astyanax's birth had been a thing of greatness. And he was a sight to be seen as an infant; Cassandra could see even without any godly blessing of sight that he would grow into a strong, handsome man and a fine warrior like his father. She smiled at him, smoothing her fingers along the side of his head.

She sighed heavily, giving the child one more looking over before shifting to return him to his mother. Andromache accepted her son into her arms, greeting the boy with a motherly kiss to the head. Cassandra stood from the stone bench she and Andromache had been sitting upon and stretched her arms up over her head, looking out towards the sea – she could see the temple of Apollo from where she stood and recalled the promise she'd made to Hector three days before.

She'd have to make good on that promise soon, she supposed.

"Have you seen Briseis this morning?" Cassandra asked over her shoulder, glancing back to see Andromache shake her head.

"No. Why?"

"I promised Hector I would make apologies to Apollo..." she smiled at the other woman, "And I imagine it to be in my best interest to simply do and be done with it before he begins asking of it."

Andromache chuckled, "Yes, I imagine it is."

"I dread it," Cassandra confessed. "So I had hoped to join Briseis when she left for the temple this morning. I'd rather have her with me then kneel before the sun god alone…"

"The priests will be there either way," Andromache reasoned. "Even without Briseis you wouldn't be alone."

"Yes, but Briseis would be more inclined to come to my aide should my apologies be refused."

Andromache chuckled again, brows furrowed in question at her sister in law, "What is there to fear?"

"Apollo himself is more fearful a thing to me than any number of men Agamemnon or his brother could bring to our shores," Cassandra confessed with a heavy unease in her voice. She crossed her arms over her chest, back to Andromache and eyes trained on the far off temple.

Andromache's brows rose and she studied the back of Cassandra's dark head for a thoughtful moment. "…This apology must be due for a hefty sin then," she mused.

Rather than answer to the comment, Cassandra instead turned to bid the two on the bench goodbye. Admitting to a sin when she didn't believe to have sinned against the Sun God at all was absurd to her, but at the same time she had no means of explaining to Andromache why else she would be fearful – not of the god's might or out of submission to his glory, but because she was afraid of him. She returned to her rooms and changed into a simple garment of white linen, pulling the clasps from her hair to let it fall freely around her face – she'd always been told it was best to come as bare and as simple as you could when visiting the temple; so, she removed any trace of jewelry and bit of royal value to her and washed her face and hands before seeking out Briseis.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

Andromache smiled as she approached the wide bed she shared with her husband, dying her hands as she watched Hector balance their son on his lap and arm, playing with him. Astyanax looked up at him with wide blue eyes, smiling and tugging at the toy lion in Hector's hand; as she drew closer, Hector looked up to her, smiling happily at her and so full of joy over his family. She noticed the warm glow in his eyes that she often saw in Cassandra's when she held Astyanax and was suddenly very aware of how closely the two siblings actually looked alike – especially in the eyes and smile.

"What?" Hector questioned the look on his wife's face.

"Nothing," Andromache chuckled. "I've just noticed that you and your sister share the same happy face."

Hector chuckled back, nodding his head. "You were with her this morning?"

"Yes, Astyanax and I shared an hour with her in the gardens."

"And how is my dear sister?" Hector asked, "I've spent so much time with father and the council lately I hardly remember what she looks like." He laughed softly, shaking his head.

"She is well. Her mind is heavy and far off, as usual, but she seemed well enough to me." Andromache sat on the edge of the bed beside her boys, "Where does her mind go, I wonder?"

"I've tried to figure that out since we were children," Hector mused with a hint of amusement in his deep voice. "It's certainly somewhere far beyond Troy."

Andromache nodded, agreeing with her husband and smiled at the happy sounds that came from their son. "She was deeply troubled by a promise she'd made you to visit the temple of Apollo this morning. She was so frightened by the idea of seeking Apollo on her own that she left to find Briseis to ask for her company in the temple…"

"So she's going this day then?"

"I do not know for certain," Andromache shrugged.

"Today or tomorrow, when is not so important as long as she does," Hector smiled. "It will be good for her."

"She spoke of apologizes… what has she done?"

Hector shook his head, "She would not tell me other than that she scorned Apollo." He sighed, "And she believes these visions or prophecies, these stories of hers, are a means of his punishment upon her. She told me by scorning him Apollo cursed her to see what will come, but never be believed."

"I wonder what she refused him…"

"Nothing most likely," Hector shook his head. "I'm certain it was all just a foolish dream that she's convinced herself to be reality. I am hoping that an apology in the temple for whatever she thinks she has done will rid her of this so call foresight of hers."

"And if it doesn't?"

Hector shook his head after a moment's thought, "I don't know. I suppose we shall all just have to learn to accept her as she is; wild imagination and all." He smiled and lifted his hand to brush some of Andromache's dark hair from her face, calm and the picture of content as he was now with his family.

The peace was short lived though as the warning bell suddenly came to life in the distance. The two turned startled eyes to the open arch of their room, Andromache's swiftly becoming alarmed and Hector's hardening into that of the prince and leader he was. He passed Astyanax off to Andromache and hurried out onto their balcony to stare out to the sea beyond Troy's walls – a fleet of ships, more than he had ever seen in all his life, dotted the horizon as far as his eyes could see. The Greeks were here.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

The thrill that ran through him was like nothing but the promise of war could do for him. It was fresher then the cleanest air, more arousing then the most beautiful of women and his skin itched to feel the sand of the shore stretched out just beyond him. Immortality and everything he'd ever wanted was there now, waiting for him – it was so close he could taste it; dry and salty on his tongue.

"My lord? Should we wait for the others?"

Achille's turned his head to look back at the approaching form and face of Eudorus, "They brought us here for war, didn't they?"

"Yes, but Agamemnon's orders-"

"You fight for me, Eudorus, or Agamemnon?" He tried his eyes on the shore once more, speaking to the man behind him without seeing him.

"For you, my lord." The reply came simply and sincerely and he knew it was true.

"Then fight for me." Achilles turned back to the waiting man, "And let the servants of Agamemnon fight for him."

The beach of Troy was his for the winning.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

REVIEWS ARE HIGHLY APPRECIATED!


	4. Chapter 4

:Summary: Cassandra, daughter of Priam and sister to Hector and Paris, is blessed with seeing what is to come, but cursed to never be believed. Thought mad by her own people, can an enemy become more when he alone seems to believe what no one else will? Achilles/OC. Movie Canon.

:Disclaimer: I do not own 'Troy' or any of the characters associated with the film or the writings pertaining to it in any way. I technically don't even own my OC – All I have is individual events that make up this story.

**SPECIAL THANKS TO REVIEWERS**

_Sorry this took so long to get out, guys…_

Chapter Four

Her immediate reaction was confusion. Confusion as to what had happened, where she was, and how she got there. Her head was swimming and her temple pulsed like she'd been struck across the side of her head, and as things began to come back together she realized that she probably had been. Her vision cleared slowly and blurred blotches of color took shape – sand and a bed of furs, armor, the distinct presence of a man in every corner of the enclosed space. The canvas smelled like smoke and the heat from the sun that warmed it outside, but it was cool within and the sand under her folded legs chilled her skin.

A frown engulfed her face as she tried to think back, wondering where she was and how she came to be there. She recalled her morning spent with Andromache and Astyanax, remembered looking for Briseis, remembered walking alongside her cousin to the temple of Apollo…

Apollo.

The power and strength carved into stone, a tall alter, cold eyes. Cassandra remembered the sense of helplessness, the fear deep in her cheat, making it hard to breath as she knelt at the feet of the statue – Briseis performing her duties as priestess just to her right. It had been so hard to bow her head, bare the back of her vulnerable neck. So hard that she hadn't managed to pray or apologize as she'd intended to do before an explosion of sound vibrated through the temple. Bells of warning sounded from Troy's walls, the sound of battle erupting from the sands outside, so loud the waves of the sea had been drowned out.

Cassandra remembered the panic and tried to push herself to her feet as she recalled hiding Briseis away from the attackers mere seconds before they charged into the alter room. The panic she remembered resurfaced in her once again now upon realizing she could not stand or even move very much at all. Her hands were tied back behind her, cloth digging into her wrists; she noticed for the first time now the hard bite of a support beam against her back. She was tied to the pole and her heart leapt into her throat, memory crashing back into her and the throb in her temple made so much more sense now that she recalled her struggle and fight against armored, faceless men. They'd killed the priests, every one of them, backhanding her with cruel knuckles and sending her reeling into unconsciousness.

Her thoughts turned to Briseis… what had become of her cousin? Had she been found as well? Was she tied to a beam in some other tent nearby? Had she been killed along with the priests? Or had she escaped?

She found herself praying to whoever would listen that Briseis had managed to avoid the brutality.

Cassandra began wriggling against the beam at her back, fingers and wrists straining as she felt along the cloth cording around her hands, the tips of her fingers going raw while she plucked and dug them into the bindings – trying without success to loosen the ties. The sound of approaching male voices beyond the dark wood and canvas of the hut reached her ears and she stilled, froze in terror as the voice came closer and closer. Her arms were beginning to stiffen and ache from being held back behind the pole for so long, but she could not bring herself to think about the ache now as a the shadow of two men fell across the flaps of the hut. She flattened her back against the pole as the flap was pulled aside and the strangers entered – a filthy blond walking and a dark haired male hanging back with only his head breaching the entrance.

Cassandra's heart leapt into her throat and she turned her head away sharply, neck and back and arms aching in protest.

A set of eyes she'd have recognized in any lifetime took in the sight of her with a battle worn intensity that she'd only ever seen in the face of one man. A man she'd never met and never thought she would meet; a vision and dream she'd watched so many times from some suspended plain around him.

She recognized the voice of the second man, from where she was not sure – perhaps from the temple? But she did not dare turn her head back to see his face. Her chest was tight as she listened to the sound of dirty armor being removed; it almost felt as though she had forgotten how to breathe and she inhaled sharply just to insure that she hadn't.

"The men found her in the temple." The man at the flap explained and Cassandra could feel his stare. "They thought she'd, um… amuse you."

Cassandra's stomach dropped and she gasped silently to herself, feeling terror grip her chest at the implication of the stranger's words. She closed her eyes, taking large gulps of air to calm her self and school her expression as best she could… but her heart was hammering so hard. It was too loud in her own ears to be ignored.

Water was sloshing as the man left and Cassandra chanced a glance out of the corner of her eye towards the man she'd been left with only to find those stark blue eyes on her still. She turned away once more as the heavy chest plate came off the man – a mile of toned skin coated in sweat and dirt and blood revealed to her unabashedly.

"What's your name?" He asked, but was met with a heavy silence. More armor and leather was unlaced and tossed aside, "Did you not hear me?"

Cassandra remained silent and stock, frozen still despite the tremor of her heart and lungs. A cold fear was hard and heavy in her stomach as she sat, tied and defenseless under this man's gaze – a man she'd known for so long, never having feared the sight or sound of him before… in her dreams. But it wasn't so easy to do when he stood before her, flesh and blood and solid and mortal and… in an ever-growing state of undress. Intense eyes that she had found beautiful in dreams and visions were suddenly harsh in her own sight and something to avoid, intimidating and piercing. Not cold, but rather too hot to look directly into. Like the sun.

"I know you hear me, girl," he rumbled, tone patient but sharp at the edges; that patience ran thin. "I ask again: what is your name?"

"What difference does it make if you know my name or not?" She tried to snap, sound fierce and one not to be toyed with. She was proud of the strength she had managed in her voice – in truth, she felt none of it.

"My mother did not raise me rude."

"I doubt she raised you a killer either, yet here you are." She turned a glare to the man, a barely audible gasp in her throat when she was met with the sight of him tossing the last of his clothing aside and standing bare before her. She looked away, but she didn't see a care in him about it – he simply leaned heavily over a washbasin, looking haggard and desiring of rest. She swallowed thickly, "You killed Apollo's priests."

"I've killed men in five countries, never a priest."

"Then your men did!" She met his eyes then, forcing her self to hold the contact, voice strained with anger and disgust of him. She'd found him so beautiful in her dreams… anger and fear was swiftly changing her opinions. "They were priests, not warriors. They were not armed!"

Achilles almost chuckled in the face of her wrathful tone, seeing a stubborn fire in her despite coiling fear as well. He found amusement in her words. Troy's Prince Hector had only just spoken similarly to him an hour at the most ago inside the temple. Grabbing a fresh wrap, he simply watched her as she turned her face away once more – shy or simply intimidated by his bare state, either way, it was becoming and he found himself smirking lightly as he took to approaching her. He eyed her dirtied tunic and the curl of her hair, gaze following the velvet dark strands that had fallen loose around her face and neck – mostly likely from her capture. She must have struggled, he realized, as he also took note of the slight bruising high along the side of her face. She was a lovely thing, even with the nasty scowl she had set for him and the filth that covered her smooth skin.

"You are no priestess," he watched her shift under his scrutiny. "What was your business in the temple this morning?"

She turned a look on him, brow furrowed like she thought he was joking. "It's a temple," she explained with an irritable edge in her voice. "What business could I have possibly have had there if not to pray?"

"So you are a servant of Apollo?"

"I pray," she snapped. "But I am hardly his servant."

He made a thoughtful sound deep in the back of his throat, predator eyes studying the turned line of her profile, the loose chocolate curls falling from what must have been a lovely weave of waves and pearls at the back of her head. He didn't need to ask to know she was royalty – he could see it in the soft, smooth curve of her tied palms and defiant set of her jaw. He could hear it in her voice when she spoke, and smelled it on her in her silence. "What is your name?"

She hesitated, turning her eyes to look up at him carefully as he stood over her, and took to silence once more. He sighed, squatting down in the sand beside her and she felt his thick, hot fingers yank and pull away at the knot of cloth that tied back her hands.

"What harm is there in my knowing your name?" He tossed the cloth aside, remaining down in the sand beside her as that thin patience returned to his voice – amusement lacing the words.

Cassandra studied him slowly, rubbing the feeling back into her wrists. Her eyes narrowed, "What is yours?"

"Your stubbornness will find you nothing but troubles…" he sighed again, shaking his head at the frown that enveloped her face. "I am Achilles."

"Achilles…" she repeated, the harsh edge of her frown softening out. Her Lion now had a name to go with the face and voice and body she had already known and recognized. She eyed the expectant expression on is dirty face and muttered her name softly in answer simply in hopes that doing so would divert those eyes from her, "Cassandra."

"Cassandra?" He knew the name, "Priam's daughter?" He watched her nod, "I'd have thought a princess to be more heavily guarded…"

"I wasn't alone."

"No," he snorted somewhat as he squatted beside her. "Apollo was with you, wasn't he? Well, your god did a poor job protecting you."

"Apollo may have been there and he may have been watching, but he wasn't protecting me," Cassandra snapped at him again, scowling once more. "He would sooner protect you then me."

"I doubt that," he smirked slightly, remembering how he'd hacked the god's head clear off his statue just an hour or so ago.

"You do not know him so well."

"I've seen him."

"Seeing is not knowing," she said hotly, letting her hands fall to her lap.

"Regardless, you are the daughter of his patron city…"

"That makes no difference to him."

He frowned at her. She was such an argumentative young woman – part of him stiffened irritably at it and another praised her for it. She was no meek souled woman, silent and obedient and accepting of a man's opinion as law. This Cassandra, daughter of Priam, sister to Great Prince Hector and Prince Paris, was full of fire. Then again, she was royalty – she'd probably spent her entire life talking down to men.

Achilles found himself reaching out, thick fingers grazing the side of her turned face. She would not be badly bruised, but she would be bruised nonetheless. As he touched her, her face turned enough for her large brown eyes to meet with his blue – he couldn't completely read the expression she presented him with, but he saw confusion and a struggle to conceal fear in the dark brown depths. She had her brother's eyes, Hector's eyes – strong and defiant, compassionate. Passionate. And she possessed the same beauty as Paris… more so then Paris even.

Achilles began to wonder whether the one who had named Helen the most beautiful woman alive had seen Cassandra. Surely if he had, titles would have been distributed a bit differently.

"Who hit you?" He asked, finger smoothing over the bruise slowly.

Cassandra turned her face away from Achilles, feeling heat trying to ignite in her cheeks. Embarrassment filled her stomach – he was touching her, sitting close enough for her to feel the heat that radiated off his chest; his very bare chest. He was in not but a single, thin cloth wrap that hung loose and low from his hips – teachings of being modest all her life left her incomparably embarrassed and nervous in the presence of a man so bare before her. Especially _this_ man. She kept the color at bay, shifting enough to break the touch of her Lion's hand on her face – as fierce and unforgiving he appeared in person, the touch had been gentle on her bruised flesh. It had been… it confused her. "I do not know."

Achilles watched her shy away from him, finding it strangely endearing. He was careful not to express this though. "Are you afraid, Cassandra?" he asked her quietly.

She looked at him again, full lips parting softly as she regarded him carefully with calculating brown eyes and carefully thoughtful expression. Her elegant brows lifted and her head turned slightly, "Should I be?"

"Most women would be," he reasoned.

She scowled at him, "I am not most women."

"No, you aren't," he shook his head. "But you are a princess of Troy. Priam's pretty daughter, alone, in an enemy camp… surrounded by men with too many needs and too few morals. I should think you should be very afraid."

"Are you such a man?" She asked point blank, dark eyes flashing over his damp, filthy body. The water he'd sloshed around on himself from the washbasin had cleared long, twisting tracks through the grim on his tanned shoulders and face and chest – painting him in stripes. Like an animal in the wild.

He did not answer her right away, couldn't, and simply stared at her. Priam's pretty daughter… too naive to have understood her situation herself? No. He doubted that. But he could not conceive how she could understand and not be afraid… after all, she had been brought here for his amusement. Surely she understood that – but the wary eye she'd kept on him was not so noticeable anymore. Still there, but softened… her fear of him had dwindled, but had not left. He could see it still as she watched him watching her, waiting for his answer…

"No," he finally told her. And so far as he could tell, he meant it.

"Then I am not afraid."

"But you are."

"…", She hesitated before dropping her gaze and slightly bowing her head, eyes trained on her hands in her lap. "…not for the same reasons you might think."

He was honestly surprised that she admitted to the apprehension that flecked around in her eyes; she seemed the kind to vehemently deny it. "Then for what reasons?"

Cassandra felt her chest tighten again. If she told him the truth… the idea of her Lion, her strong and beautiful Lion, thinking her as mad as the rest of her family and people did broke her heart. She couldn't bear to look at him and see pity or disdain in his eyes for her. Anyone else she could learn to bear and ignore, but not her Lion. Not Achilles. She couldn't tell him the truth – he wouldn't believe her. And more then she'd ever wanted to be believed in all these years, she wanted him to believe her.

He was a stranger by all rights, dangerous and murderous, a man bred to kill. Cassandra knew very well what the blond man-god was capable of – she'd seen it. And as little as she knew about the man, she knew the Lion… and in a strange sense, she'd fallen in love with that vision. The dream. To have him reject her or mock her… she didn't think she'd survive it.

"I… know why you are here. I know what your being here means…" she began, eyes on her hands. "And… I fear… what is to come. What you will do." _And what will become of you_, her mind continued but her mouth did not. She couldn't bring herself to look him in the eyes anymore. And that bothered her.

Achilles continued to stare, looking over her profile as she studied her hands. She had left much unsaid even as she'd spoken, he knew, but he could see she was unwilling to share. He could press the matter, he knew, but he didn't. He wouldn't. Which surprised him. They fell into silence - Cassandra watching her hands, Achilles watching Cassandra… until the sound of Eudorus' heavy, even footfalls reached the blond's ear and he turned slightly to the sound of his man addressing him. His eyes did not leave Cassandra's profile.

"Agamemnon requests your presence." Eudorus explained, as he looked from his lord to the lady the blond squatted in front of. "The kings are gathering to celebrate the victory."

"You fought well today," Achilles praised the man standing in the entrance of his hut out of the blue. Cassandra could tell from the surprise and pleasure in the same dark haired man from before's voice that such a thing was not common practice from her Lion.

She wondered vaguely if he was doing so for show before her… and then wondered why. He shifted, adjusting the set of his wrap on his hips, and she finally looked at him again to find him staring straight at her. "If not one such as the rest, what kind of man are you then?" she asked quietly after the other man in the flap of the hunt left.

Cassandra watched him blink slowly, head tilting to one side as he met her eyes directly – his matted blond hair falling with the tilt of his head to one side, against his strong shoulder. He seemed to sigh, but was silent about it, and finally dropped his gaze from her and turned his head.

"One you do not need to fear," he answered. Suddenly standing from beside her, he continued a little gruffly, "And you are the only Trojan who can claim such a thing of me."

"Why me?" she asked him, but he did not answer her.

* * *

OKAY. This chapter is grossly overdue and I am soooo sorry for that. It was meant to be quite a bit longer, but I've taken so long to get it out I figured I would just upload it for you guys as is… PLEASE REVIEW


	5. Chapter 5

**SPECIAL THANKS TO REVIEWERS!**

Chapter Five

He could still hear the heavy chatter and calls that had filled the hall, the voices of men ringing with an assurance and confidence Hector himself did not feel. The council and his father all seemed convinced that the oncoming war was an easy victory in the making for Troy, but Hector was not so sure. He could not possibly be so sure any more. And he'd seen mirrored unease in Paris' eyes. The younger prince of Troy had looked ill, tan skin pale and drawn tight around his mouth and through his brows. Paris was as stricken as he… made dumb and nauseas with grief and horror.

Hector was sure his brother had his reasons for his guilt; he knew the news Briseis had brought to them had hit Paris equally as hard as it had him. But, the future king of Troy could not help but feel the fault was all his own.

Cassandra was gone. It was his fault, and his alone.

He stood ramrod stiff in the last place he'd lain eyes on his sister, the open walkway where she'd gazed off to the distant shoreline. Where she'd blindly trusted him and shared with him her troubles, to which he was ashamed to admit he'd only half listened to. Where he'd sent her to her death… or worse.

Hector stared with dark eyes at the shoreline, now dotted with ships and Greeks, watching the faint warp of their shadows on the sand and between the waves. He would not look to the desecrated temple – his heart could not bear the sight of it.

"Hector."

The eldest prince of Troy turned his head to see his brother now sharing the space with him. Paris was still pale, his expression still sunken in with fret and worry and guilt and grief. He looked tired, drawn, but he did not look quite so ill as he had earlier amongst the council, or at least he did not seem ready to fall over to the ground anymore.

Paris did not speak again as he stepped up to his brother's side, looking out to the shore same as Hector was once more. The brothers shared the heavy silence, watching the shore without truly knowing what they were watching for. Perhaps a sign that what they had been told was all a horrible lie…

"I keep half expecting to hear her coming down the hall," Hector confessed a good while later. "A story beginning on her tongue… a complaint… My skin crawls knowing she is not here." He saw Paris turn his head to look at him from the corner of his eyes, "Already I begin to forget her face, the sound of her voice… I wished I'd listened more."

"You speak of her as though you were sure she were dead," Paris shook his head. "We… we don't know that for sure, Hector. She could be –"

"You were not there, Paris. You did not see." Hector bowed his head, shaking it slowly.

"Briseis escaped. She survived," Paris tried earnestly. "It could be the same with –"

"None were left with a breath in their lungs, Paris. Every man and woman in the temple was slaughtered," Hector interrupted his brother. "Briseis survived only because Cassandra hid her."

Paris grew quiet and Hector glanced at his brother to see he had paled and grown ill looking once more, the youngest prince's hands were now set firmly on the ledge of the overlook wall before them – Hector knew it was for support, to keep himself steady on his feet. "So… there is no hope?"

"The man who killed Tecton outside Apollo's temple…" Hector began slowly, "…I've never seen a spear thrown like that. It was an impossible throw. He… is an animal. A dangerous animal." Hector swallowed thickly, "Briseis claimed to see Cassandra carried away from the temple by that man's men… I can only pray now that the Gods have taken her. That her suffering is over."

Paris stared at him with wide eyes, voice incredulous and disbelieving, "You pray that she is dead?"

"She is a princess of Troy. Prima's daughter." Hector looked hard at his brother. "…Imagine the horrors that would await her, alone, amongst 100,000 enemies. You think Agamemnon would not delight at the chance to torture the daughter of his enemy?" Paris looked out to the horizon, stricken once more, and Hector shook his head. "For a woman… there are worse things then death."

"I mocked her…" Paris confessed softly after a moment's silence between himself and his brother. Hector watched, as a film of moisture appeared to cover Paris' eyes, feeling an answering need to weep throb in his chest. "My last words to her… I called her a liar, mocked her, and called her mad. What a poor excuse for a brother I must have seemed to her…"

"You have no obligation to guilt, Paris." Hector explained to the other, "She loved you. And she knew you loved her. That memory would not be the one of you she would carry."

Paris stared at Hector's profile, very aware of what he's brother had left unsaid. "You have no obligation to guilt either."

"I have an obligation to the guilt in its entirety," Hector argued. "Solely."

"You didn't know. Hector, this wasn't your fault."

The eldest brother turned and looked at the younger, Hector's brows furrowed tight over darkly troubled brown eyes. "I sent her to her death, Paris."

"You could not have known…"

"I made her promise me that she would go to Apollo's temple. I made her promise me… and she has never broken a promise to me in all her life. She went because I told her to." Hector could feel his face grow hot and his eyes begin to sting as he stared at Paris. His voice cracked gruffly, "She is gone because of me."

Paris watched as his brother broke like glass before him, the strong surface cracking under the weight of his guilt. He had never seen Hector reduced to such a state before… Hector was the strong one; he'd always been the strong one. But now Paris watched, consumed with helplessness, as he bore witness for the first time in his entire life to tears sliding down his brother's face.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Dressed now and as clean as one could get in the given situation, Achilles walked the beach with a heavy mind. It seemed just yesterday he'd done the same in Lárisa with his mother collecting shells and twisting his thoughts with half sung riddles and glimpses at futures and paths she would no completely share. His mind had been heavy then as well, but for different reasons.

This time, it was not the question of leaving for war or not that turned his head. Rather, it was a girl. A lovely young girl whom he'd just left to her own devises in his hut. Never before had thoughts of a woman taken his mind so hostage… honestly, women hardly ever had a place in his mind at all. He never had to think about them – they were either there to warm his bed or they weren't. That was it. But Cassandra…

His thoughts on the captured Trojan princess ran deeper then those of whores or bed warmers ever had. She was beautiful, strong willed… word from Eudorus had confirmed that she was a fighter as well. Apparently the struggle she'd put up in the temple earlier that had resorted in the bruising along her temple and cheek had given his men, fierce warriors, more then a little trouble.

Achilles had been amused to hear one unfortunate Myrmidon was sporting quit the angry looking claw marks across his face thanks to the young woman.

She intrigued him with unmistakably Trojan eyes that shone with such beautiful, raw innocence in their large, deep brown depths. The kind of innocence he knew men coveted. Yet there was a fire in those eyes, and a hardness as well. Innocent enough, yes, but she was not naïve – she seemed to have withstood trials and a brutality of the world in her own right. Achilles could only wonder what hardship she had faced that would put that kind of solid darkness into the eyes of a woman so fair and cared for as Cassandra, Princess of Troy. And the way she looked at him… Achilles could not even begin to explain the knowing, familiar look in which she watched him with.

His mother's words haunted him now… a woman here that would be his undoing. Who would bring him peace. Surely a Trojan princess could not bring him such a thing. Such a thing would be ridiculous, especially here. Especially now.

Crossing over the guarded entrance to Agamemnon's grand tent, Achilles watched from a distance as once prideful, honorable men kneeled before the swine of a king. These men, kings themselves, handed over gifts and spoke praises Achilles could not bring himself to think Agamemnon deserving of… except perhaps the Urn. Glancing along the assembled line of kings, Achilles spied Odysseus waging a war with himself to keep from laughing over the gifted vessel.

And then Agamemnon's eyes were upon him – cruel blue orbs peering at him in disdain from a face the blond warrior found grotesque. Rotten. To Achilles, Agamemnon was no better then a ghastly wound, infected and sore with puss.

"Leave us," the king commanded with a wave of his hand.

Achilles watched as the assembled kings squared their shoulders, clutching at their last strips of pride, and filed out of the tent. Obedient in a way that made Achilles' insides tighten hotly in his bowels.

Odysseus was the last to make his exit, pausing to lean against the support beam just in front of Achilles. "War is young men dying and old men talking. You know this." The good king told his blond friend, clasping his shoulder briefly. "Ignore the politics."

Achilles' mouth curled slightly in one corner, head jerking in a single nod. He caught the retreating man's elbow before he made his leave entirely, holding his eyes. "I've a hungry Fox in my tent. See that it is fed."

Odysseus frowned at the other man, searching masked blue eyes for a hint to what he was talking about. He nodded regardless, reasoning it was best to search out his own answers himself then to question Achilles further.

Odysseus left with his appointed task and Achille's turned eyes reluctantly to the waiting Agamemnon, smile slipping from his face. He approached at his leisure, making a grand show of how disinclined he was to be in the other's presence. "Apparently, you won some great victory," Achilles broke the silence. He continued pacing before the king, nerves too alight with the itch and fire to strike out at this hated man keeping him from becoming still.

"Perhaps you didn't notice. The Trojan beach belonged to Priam in the morning," Agamemnon boasted arrogantly. "It belongs to Agamemnon in the afternoon."

"You can have the beach," Achilles snorted. "I didn't come here for sand."

"No," Agamemnon shook his fat head. "You came here because you want your name to last through the ages." He watched as Achilles momentarily stilled and narrowed hard blue eyes on him. "A great victory was won today. But that victory is not yours."

"Kings did not kneel to Achilles," Agamemnon continued viciously. "Kings did not pay homage to Achilles."

"Perhaps the kings were too far behind to see." Achilles watched the man with hot eyes, voice even and controlled even as his eyes blazed. "Soldiers won the battle."

"History remembers kings!" The king leapt up to his feet from his throne, "Not soldiers." He took heavy, aggressive steps towards the great warrior, "Tomorrow, we'll batter down the gates of Troy. I'll build monuments to victory on every island of Greece. I'll carve "Agamemnon" in the stone."

"Be careful, king of kings," Achilles warned with the same even tone – having no more then batted an eyelash at the foul man's minor rant. "First, you need the victory."

Agamemnon fell silent to the threat, very much aware and infuriated by his inability to intimidate the blond warrior. Achilles' refusal to kneel to his will and authority burned even now, despite having come to expect it already. He stepped forward again, closing the distance between them; he felt a throb of fury in his temple when Achilles failed to so much as flinch upon his approach. "Your men sacked the temple of Apollo, yes?"

"You want gold?" Achilles' brows jumped slightly before his expression deteriorated. Disgust covered his face as he stared unblinkingly at the other man. "Take it. It's my gift to honor your _courage_. Take what you wish."

"I already have."

Achilles watched a smirk of victory pull the old man's lips to one side. He did not like the look and his own features tightened in response.

"Aphareus! Haemon!" Agamemnon called to his guards.

A scuffle then reached Achilles' sharply tuned ears, interrupting his fight to determine what Agamemnon could have taken for his self-indulgent pleasures. The unmistakable gasp and soft grunt of a struggling lady announced the arrival of Agamemnon's prize before Achilles even turned his head to watch.

"Let go of me!" Cassandra all but shrieked at her captors, pulling and pivoting her body in hopes of jolting free of the grasp Agamemnon's guards had around her arms. Her feet slid out from under her as she fought, catching on the rugs that covered the floor.

A fire erupted within Achille's chest as he watched the whole affair, rooted to the spot with eyes wide and bulging with horror concealed by sudden, violent understanding and then absolute rage. He saw red, his blood pounding in his ears.

Cassandra's hair had come completely free of the few clasps and ties that had been left to her the last time Achilles had seen her. The dark chocolate waves and curls tossed wildly around her head as she fought the men that held her. Also, Achilles noticed with a flaring sense of rage and murderous intent for whomever had caused it, she had been struck in some manner again and was now bleeding from a small wound along the bridge of her nose and a split lip.

"The spoils of war," Agamemnon nodded towards the girl with sick amusement in his voice and on his face. "Imagine my surprise when I heard word that you not only held a captive in your tent, but Priam's own daughter at that…"

"Release her," Achilles growled out, forcing his gaze from Cassandra to the floor. If he looked at her any longer he had no doubt that he would snap completely.

Agamemnon snorted, "Release her? Did you think that you could keep her? That you even had the right?" His chest puffed out in an attempt at commanding the man who would sooner die then be intimidated by him, "I should have you whipped for your audacity!"

Cassandra cried out in shock and pain as one of the guards latched a hold of the back of her head, his thick, coarse fingers knotting in the long strands of hair and yanking her head back hard. It effectively restrained her, causing a cease in her struggles against them and a soft sob to escaped her as she went prone in the man's hold.

Achilles had not heard a single word Agamemnon said as he watched the display.

"No argument with you, brothers, but if you don't release her, you'll never see home again." He looked between the two men, particularly at the one fisting Cassandra's hair and holding her head back at a horrid angle. "Decide."

Stationed guards sprang forward at Agamemnon's word and Achilles drew his sword. The veins in his arms bulged, muscles gone tight and body drooping into a defensive, animalistic crouch. Preparing him self for battle. He'd never felt such rage incited by a single person in him before… he began calculating each of the men closing in on him, a blood lust boiling beneath his skin. He'd kill every last one of them for the outrage and sacrilege that had been committed the moment a violent hand had been placed upon the Trojan girl.

"Stop!" Cassandra screamed, breaking free of her captors as the men released her arms and hair. She stumbled forward, skin shining in a thin sheen of sweat from her struggles, hair knotted by cruel fingers and lovely face marred by blood. She looked an awful mess, and yet still the glare she sent around at the man surrounding her held a fierce fire that rivaled Achilles' own.

Achilles, as well as the guards around them, stilled under Cassandra's outburst, his eyes flicking madly from Agamemnon's men to the girl and back. His ears strained to hear any sound she made, body pulsing with the effort it took not to launch him self at the men that surrounded him.

"Too many men have already died today," Cassandra announced, eyes falling to the blond warrior crouching before her. Her gaze felt accusing on Achilles' skin – a tickle of irritation at her filled him for it, as he suddenly felt ashamed. "We all have our curses," she directed specifically at Achilles and his head turned just so to listen, jaw flexing as he did. "If killing is your only talent then that is yours. Put away your sword, Lion; I won't have anyone dying for me."

He wanted to shake her. Slap her. He wanted to beat the sense she seemed to be lacking into her and scream his fury in her face. Even so, Achilles found him self obeying her terse command and began to pace, sword lowered to his side, like the lion she had called him. He meant to convey hatred for her as he set wild blue eyes on her face, but the look she watched him with… again, that understanding and knowing he could not fathom. And a plea that startled him; a silent begging that flecked the brown of her eyes – nearly imperceptible around her dark pupils.

He could not feel rage for her, only for the men who had dared strike her.

"Mighty Achilles," Agamemnon drawled out loud and amused as he circled around Cassandra, "silenced… by a little Trojan girl."

Achilles redirected his hatred to Agamemnon and he watched between his pacing as the filth came close enough that he saw his breath unsettle the loose strands of Cassandra's hair.

"Tonight, I'll have her give me a bath," Agamemnon prodded at the angry lion's control, taunting the furious warrior. The possessive, territorial reaction Priam's pretty daughter drew from Achilles sparked his interest like nothing else ever could – finally, a means in which to intimidate the prideful, fierce creature. "And then… who knows?"

Achilles watched Cassandra flinch as Agamemnon lifted a section of curls to his face to smell the perfumes and oils that still clung to the disheveled locks. Her entire body tilted from the king's, repulsion tensing every line in his arms, shoulders and face. She would not look at him anymore, her dark, knowing eyes turned down and away from him… being unable to see them filled him with a panic he was not accustomed to.

"After all, it is not everyday that one comes into the possession of his enemy's daughter…" Agamemnon continued, ever aware of Achilles' mounting fury. He delighted in it.

"You sack of wine!" Achilles bellowed, voice like an animal's enraged roar. He was breathing too heavily, he knew, and he was sweating profusely. His calm and cool had been shattered completely.

Cassandra looked to him again then, but he found no relief in it. All he saw there in their depths was fear.

"Before my times is done," Achilles growled at the king as he circled around him and Cassandra with his sword raised and pointed straight out at Agamemnon, "I will look down on your corpse and smile."

* * *

PLEASE REVIEW – I love hearing back from readers!


	6. Chapter 6

**SPECIAL THANKS TO REVIEWERS!**

Chapter Six

An acute sense of horror filled Cassandra's stomach when Achilles stormed out of Agamemnon's tent, leaving her totally alone with the so called king of kings and the twelve other men that made up his guard. Her throat had gone dry, heart pounding fast and loud against her heaving ribs. She'd heard tales of the volatile, brutal King Agamemnon of Mycenae from her father and brothers over the years. She knew his thirst for power and ownership over Troy. And it took everything she had in her to keep from trembling. She knew Achilles had had no other choice, but a part of her wanted nothing more then to cry out to the blond warrior – beg him not to leave her like this.

She swallowed the urge down, pride not allowing it.

When he'd left her earlier, after he'd cleaned himself and dressed once more in armor and cape as well, he'd done so without a word to her. But even through his silence she'd heard his assurance of safety within the wood and canvas walls of his tent through the look in his eyes when he'd paused to look back at her from the entrance. She'd been completely content to stay there in his absence – she'd even cleaned up in the water basin, using a cloth she'd found nearby to wipe away the worst of the dirt that had collected on her skin.

Cassandra knew the fact that she'd been barged in on and forcibly removed from the haven of her Lion's den had not been Achilles' doing and had been far beyond his power to prevent at the time… but now, as Agamemnon circled her like a vulture, she could not help the deep sense of hurt and betrayal that enveloped her heart.

His earlier warnings of immoral men were suddenly very real and intimidating.

"Well, well, well." Cassandra froze, closing her eyes against the sight of Agamemnon's scarred and ugly face so close to her own. She could feel his breath on the side of her neck and her skin crawled in disgust. "This _is_ a surprise, Cassandra of Troy."

Her heart stopped as his hand stroked the side of her face, breath lodging painfully in her throat. Her eyes flew open and her hand snapped out, slapping the man's away. "Do not touch me!" She spat venomously.

"A feisty one, aren't you?" Agamemnon chuckled as she glared at him. Gesturing for his guard to return to their posts, he took in the complete sight of her – even through the mess of blood and dirt on her face, she was beautiful. His lips pulled back from his teeth, "Yes. I can see why he likes you."

Achilles.

Her heart yearned for her Lion's white-hot presence. Recalling the texture of his hands when he'd touched the bruising high along the side of her face, Cassandra determined that though Agamemnon's hands were not so calloused or coarse as Achilles', the blond warrior's touch was far more favored. He'd been gentle and though it had embarrassed her, it had been a comfort compared to what she was enduring now.

"I've heard stories," he pressed, hooking his hand around her jaw and holding tightly. He turned her face from side to side, appraising her. He smirked at the defiance he found in her dark eyes. "Priam's delusional daughter… so pretty, a prize of prizes were it not for her weak mind." His smirk grew as her jaw tensed in his hand and her eyes narrowed nastily at him. "Yes… fitting candidate for a King's slave and concubine."

She spat in his face.

Agamemnon released her jaw to wipe away the saliva she'd so brazenly spat into his face, digging it out from the hollow between the bridge of his nose and eye. Cassandra had expected the blow, but the force behind it still caught her off guard when it finally came. She yelped as the angry and insulted man backhanded her hard enough to unsettle her footing and send her down to her knees on the ground. Again she cried out as her head was yanked back, Agamemnon's thick fingers fisting and pulling her hair as he bent to snarl in her face.

"Full of more fire then stories suggest," he yanked hard, drawing another cry from the girl. "Mark my words, Princess of Troy, there will be nothing left to that fire by the time I'm trough with you. And when I am done, I will gift wrap your body and drop you at the feet of your father and brothers. And I will send them new stories. Stories of how you cried and screamed and broke beneath my hand, a princess reduced to whore and slave."

She stared up into his face with wide eyes, pain evident in their depths and fear clouding them as he spoke.

"And then I will crush the gates of your Troy and your family will join you," he growled and his hand loosened on her hair as the other came around to strike her again.

Cassandra gasped as hard knuckles connected with the side of her face again, sending her reeling backwards onto her back on the floor. The wetness of tears sliding down her cheeks registered just before her vision darkened and she collapsed on the rugs of Agamemnon's floor, unconscious.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Odysseus eyed the tense backs of Eudorus and Patroclus as he approached Achilles' familiar wood and canvas hut. The two men stood a cautious distance from the shelter, appearing to both want to approach and run far away from the forbidding man hidden within. The good king clasped his hand on the younger man's shoulder, drawing the eyes of Achille's cousin to his face. "Any word?"

"No more then breaking bowls and furniture can say," Patroclus sighed. He'd been more then startled when he'd seen his cousin storming across the sands the previous afternoon, raging like the God of Wrath himself as he returned for an apparent meeting with Agamemnon. When he'd tried to enter Achilles' hut to speak with the man, he'd been thrown out and forbad from entering again while his cousin had gone about destroying whatever he came across inside.

"It's been quiet all morning…" Eudorus provided and Odysseus nodded, sighing heavily through the nose.

"What happened?" Patroclus demanded thoughtfully, eyeing his cousin's king friend expectantly.

"Agamemnon stole from him," Odysseus confessed honestly.

Patroclus frowned, "What did he steal?" It was not like his cousin to become so wild and uncontrolled over gold or trinkets. Achilles didn't have much care for such things…

"The girl?" Eudorus asked, knowing that the captive he and the men had brought to his lord was indeed gone.

"What girl?" Patroclus' head spun around to the dark-haired Myrmidon.

"From the temple," Eudorus explained. "The men found her there and gifted her to him."

"He's lost his mind over a concubine?" Patroclus' nose crinkled like he'd caught a foul scent, sounding incredulous and disbelieving.

"No," Odysseus shook his head. "Not a concubine. A princess."

The King of Ithaca stepped up to the hut's entrance, leaving Patroclus and Eudorus sputtering rather stupidly after him. He shoved the leather and canvas aside as he crossed the threshold none other had dared to even approach since the blond warrior's loud and violent return the previous day. It seemed obscenely dark inside to the good king, Achilles' mood visible long before the blond was – belongings littered the floor, shattered ceramics and splintered wood, along with a severely bent tray and the assortment of fruits that had sat upon it. Weapons and armor had been tossed carelessly around and the washbasin had been knocked over, its contents staining the sand beneath it.

The man responsible for the senseless attack upon his own belongs was stretched out on his bed of furs, back propped up against a beam, with a goblet of wine in one hand and a half eaten apple in the other. The glaze of his eyes prompted Odysseus to wonder just how much his friend had been drinking since the day before.

"I never thought you one to drink 'til drunk," Odysseus confessed. "Seems far too reckless even for you, friend."

"I am not drunk," Achilles rumbled from his place, eyes never straying from the far wall of canvas in front of him. He bit into his apple with a loud, satisfying crunch, the fruit's sweet aroma filling the air around him.

Odysseus regarded the other in silence a long while before speaking again, "So you've grown attached to the little Fox?"

"I want her back," Achilles growled.

"Agamemnon has taken her as a personal possession," the good king explained calmly. "He and Menelaus seem to intend to take out their frustrations on her."

"I want her _back_," Achilles stressed with a fierce glance to his friend.

Odysseus sighed, shaking his head slowly, "…a captive princess is a coveted prize to Agamemnon. He will not be so swiftly inclined to return her to you now that he has claimed ownership over her."

"He stole her from me," Achilles snapped.

"According to him she never belonged to you," Odysseus said. "Cries of theft will do you no good with him."

"Then he loses my sword in this war." Achilles' voice was like an iron rod.

"Achilles…"

The blond thrust his hand aggressively towards Odysseus, casting whatever he intended to say away from him. "Let the _king_ fight his own war. Until what is mine is returned to me, the Myrmidons will not so much as lift their swords in his favor."

"Yes? And what will you do with her once you have her?"

"That is of no importance," the warrior grumbled foully.

Odysseus sighed. It was pointless trying to convince Achilles otherwise now that his mind was set. All he could do was relay the blond warrior's demands to Agamemnon and pray some kind of compromise could be made – it was doubtful, given the nature of the two prideful men. "Very well."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Everything hurt as she opened her eyes. Even her eyes hurt, the brown orbs closing quickly and a soft groan of pain spilling from her split lips. She did not dare move, doubted she could if she were to even try, and remained down on what felt like the coarse fibers of a rug on her stomach. She inhaled deeply, feeling as though she had not been breathing enough air during the hours she had been unconscious.

Her head felt as though someone had been using it for a drum.

Cassandra rapidly blinked her eyes, easing them open again as she shifted. Her arms were aching and cloth bindings pulled taut against her skin when she moved. Her face contorted in confusion and she forced her head to lift from the ground, wincing at the pull of sore muscles and bruised flesh, seeing for herself that she was indeed tied up to what appeared to be the mast of a ship or some kind of ornate supporting beam. It was black with bands of gold wrapping around it, sanded down smoothly, thick and much sturdier then it appeared.

She tested her bindings, tugging lightly and then harder, gasping at the pain that exploded in her shoulders and back. She went slack again, dropping her head to give her neck a rest. Her mind backtracked then; reviewing over the current events of her life and all that happened to her… captured, given to the one man she'd never thought to meet outside of dreams, captured again by the enemy of her entire people. It was a lot to swallow all at once.

Cassandra winced. Her throat and tongue were pasty with a thirst that was only just now hitting her. She licked her lips, grimacing at the taste of old blood and the sting of the split in her lip. The bruising left behind by Agamemnon's knuckles throbbed now against her cheek and jaw… she was probably black and blue, she reasoned. Her hips and arms felt bruised as well, like she'd been dropped to the ground and drug by the arms. The cording round her wrists was cutting into her flesh and rubbing it raw and red.

She closed her eyes, exhausted just from her thinking. What was to become of her now? Agamemnon's cruel words resurfaced – his threats against her and her family - and Cassandra's lungs tightened in her chest… when had he said that? Perhaps a day ago?

Her heart suddenly cried out in her chest… how she longed for home now. She longed for Troy's high walls and her warm, safe bed. She longed for Andromache and Astyanax, for golden Helen, for her brother Paris and cousin Briseis. She even longed for her critical father. But most of all, her heart wept for Hector, her eldest and most beloved brother. She'd never been more aware of his absence as she was now and tears stung her eyes as she stared at her bound wrists. What must her family think?

"What sort of game is he playing?" The enraged voice of Agamemnon made Cassandra jump and she craned her head around to watch the man's shadow against the canvas at the entrance of the tent. "He insults me!"

"You have wounded his pride," a second voice joined the king's and the shadow of an unknown man shifted over the outside of the canvas.

"Damn his pride! Damn _him_!" Agamemnon bellowed up at the taller man that joined him, "His every breath is an insult to me!"

"Regardless," the other man's tone remained even and calm in the face of the king's anger. "Achilles has refused to have any further part in this war until negotiations are made."

"He has no right to be demanding negotiations," Agamemnon spat. "Let the fool rot for all I care!"

Cassandra had to bite her tongue to keep from flinching as the tent flap was violently pushed aside and Agamemnon entered. She caught a brief glimpse of the other man beyond the enclosure, small green eyes catching her large brown for a split second before the flap of the tent fell shut once more. Her hope seemed to disappear along with them.

* * *

REVIEW PLEASE! – They convince me to continue…


	7. Chapter 7

****

**SPECIAL THANKS TO REVIEWERS!**

**AN: For those that are interested, I thought I'd share with you all the inspiration behind Cassandra and what in my mind she looks like…**

**http://(shimoda7).deviantart.(com)/art/Audrey-Tautou-69472755**

**Just copy and past the address and remove the ( )s - also, just so we're clear, the amazing artwork is regrettably not mine.**

Chapter Seven

**Two Week Later**

Patroclus eyed his lounging cousin with a tense jaw and heavy eyes. Achilles could feel the disapproval the younger man had yet to voice, but the great golden warrior ignored his cousin completely. He hadn't even so much as looked up at Patroclus as he entered. He didn't need to look to see the younger blond's frown; he'd known Patroclus so long now that any expression the boy could make was already anticipated and memorized.

"You intend to spend the rest of your days like this?" The younger finally broke the thick silence.

"No," Achilles swallowed from his goblet. "Just until the Myrmidons put Troy behind them."

"So it's true then? We're leaving?" Patroclus' displeasure now had a shocked edged to it. He seemed to sputter slightly, disbelieving, when Achilles simply nodded affirmation. "You can turn your back while Greeks are being slaughtered?"

"Much better men then I have done it before me," Achilles replied dispassionately.

"Since when have you ever lived by the example of others?" Patroclus demanded in clear growing anger, "Your place is in battle."

"So, then you're ready to fight? To kill?" Achilles still would not look at his boy, barely a man, cousin. "You are ready to take life?"

"I am." Patroclus answered evenly, chin lifting confidently even as his cousin shook his golden head.

"Then killing is to become your talent too?" The warrior braced his elbows on his knees as he sat up, troubled eyes on the smoldering fire before him and lifting to the crosshatch walls of dark wood. "And when there are no more wars? What then, Patroclus?"

"There will always be war," Patroclus reasoned, frowning at his cousin. Something was wrong with him…

Achilles could only look down at his hands – for days now he'd heard nothing but Cassandra's words of curses. He'd seen nothing but her eyes, boring into his – so strong, so beautiful. So full of fire. He'd barely slept the last two weeks since Agamemnon had stolen her from him – food had gradually lost its taste and he could no longer tell the difference between what was wine and what was water. She haunted him.

_We all have our curses… _she'd said._ If killing is your only talent, then that is yours._

If all wars were to end tomorrow, what would become of him? He didn't know how to do anything else…

"Shall we both be remembered for nothing but blood shed?" Achilles asked the younger male, almost mumbling.

"What is wrong with you?" Patroclus looked over his cousin like he didn't know who the man was anymore. "You have hardly moved these last weeks. You speak to no one. You hardly eat…"

"I have seen their faces at night. All the men I've killed." Achilles continued as though he had not heard the other, "They're all standing there on the far bank of the River Styx. Hundreds stand there, waiting – fathers, brothers, husbands, and sons. They're waiting for me…" he finally lifted his head and eyes to Patroclus', holding the younger man's gaze. "They say, "Welcome, brother"."

Cassandra had been right. What he was, it was a curse. A plague.

"We men are wretched things," he murmured as he lifted his cup to drink.

"We should fight." Patroclus persisted stubbornly, his jaw working tensely around the words.

"Yes? And why should we fight?" Achilles asked, "Why do you fight, Patroclus?"

"I fight for you."

"And who will you fight for when I'm gone? A king you've never even met?"

"This is all over that girl, isn't?" Patroclus scowled, "If it's a concubine you want then I will personally fetch you another!"

"Watch your tongue," Achilles snapped at his cousin, sending him a fierce glare. "If I wanted a whore I would have one - my quarrel with Agamemnon is not so shallow."

"Then what is it?" Patroclus nearly shouted as he lost his temper with the older male. "Gods, Achilles, what will it take to end this? Many men died yesterday! Men who would still be alive if you had been there alongside them rather then licking at your wounded pride in here!"

"Priam's daughter belongs to me. His theft of her was the last of many wrongs committed against me that I would tolerate," Achilles answered shortly. "Until what is mine has been returned to me, the Myrmidons will remain still. And if I am not given what is mine, in a week's time I will be gone."

"Princess of Troy or not, she is only a girl." Patroclus shook his head at his cousin. "Shouldn't your people account for more to you then one Trojan girl?"

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Cassandra had not had a substantial meal in nearly three weeks, but after the third day she no longer felt the pains of hunger – her body was distracted from its cry for food by another sort of pain. Agamemnon's servant boy snuck her water when he could – if not for that, she could almost be certain she would be dead by now. As it were, she was currently only grossly dehydrated. What concerned her more was the hollow ache in her right side…

Agamemnon had stormed in the day before, raging like a made man. He'd screamed at her the events of the day, recounting the story of her brother Paris challenging Menelaus for the right to Helen. He'd beaten her breathless as he bellowed on about Paris' cowardice and how Hector had saved their brother's life by killing Menelaus himself. He'd taken his frustration out on her completely, striking her and delivering a vicious kick into her side that had sent her reeling over and straining against her bindings, doubled over in horrified pain.

It had not been the first beating she'd endured by Agamemnon's hand, but it had been by far the worst. She was still surprised she'd managed to retain consciousness as long as she had during the furious abuse.

Currently, Cassandra lay flat on her good side, body curled somewhat defensively around the beam she was tied to. Everything hurt, throbbed beneath bruised and in some cases torn skin. Agamemnon had reopened the split in her lip, his rings adding more to her cheek and jaw. She could feel the heat of a particularly angry scratch just above her left eyebrow and wondered vaguely if it was becoming infected.

Her eyes were closed, mind sluggish as she tried to rest during this calm period of absence from Agamemnon's wrath. It was hard to do with so many aches and pains…

Unable to keep away any longer, Odysseus' arrival had gone completely unnoticed by the abused young woman tied up to the beam near Agamemnon's throne. The King of Ithaca stood silently behind her, watching the lift and fall of her body as she slowly breathed. The white linens of the dress she wore were covered in dirt and filth, spots of dried blood stained into the fabric.

Shame filled him – he should have come to her much, much sooner.

"Lady?" He called to her, breaking the silence as easily as he could.

Despite speaking softly, the sound of his voice still startled the girl. Odysseus watched her as she jolted from her position in alarm, throwing herself upright against the beam and pulling herself around it to place it between them – a defensive move, the king knew.

"Easy! Easy!" Odysseus held up his palms to the startled female, taking note of the way she was heavily favoring her right side. "It's alright… I mean you no harm…"

She stilled, but the wild, fearful look never left her dark Trojan eyes while she watched him from behind the beam. Odysseus was startled himself to see just how heavily bruised the young woman was – blue and deep, ugly purple blotches adorned what was visible of her arms and raw wrists. They shadowed her jaw and chin, the marks a perfect picture of fingers digging into the soft flesh. Some of the shallower bruises had healed into dusty yellow and green hues. There was freshly dried blood layered over the bruises and Odysseus quickly cataloged all of her visible injuries.

He felt sick as he imagined what she must have endured these past two weeks in Agamemnon's possession. Obviously, the king had been taking out his anger on her – the death of his brother most likely the reasons behind much of her fresh injuries.

"You are hurt," Odysseus stated the obvious, speaking slowly as he took tentative steps towards her. He didn't want to startle the abused Trojan anymore then she already was. He pointed to her favored right side, dropping to his knees near her, "…I'm going to check you for breaks. Do not worry."

Having warned her before hand, Odysseus carefully extended his hand to her side and began to slowly feel along and prod at her ribs. He watched her carefully from the corner of his eye, honestly surprised that she was allowing him to touch her – she was breathing heavily, scared, and she inhaled sharply as he pressed into her side. A slight wince accompanied the quiet gasp and she tensed, body instinctively leaning away from his hand.

"Badly bruised…" he explained softly, trying his best to keep from hurting the girl. "No breaks, so far as I can tell."

He removed his hand from her and Cassandra watched as he stood, fetching a cloth and dipping it into a water basin before returning to her side. She stared at him as he lifted his hand, moving slowly and deliberately so as not to surprise her, and turned her face to him with careful fingers. She loosened her hold and relaxed off the beam a bit as he began cleaning her face of dirt and blood.

He had a warrior's hands, coarse in the same way Achilles' hands had been. But this man's hands were smaller then her Lion's, fingers a bit shorter. The warmth of his palm was different as well – still… it was a comfort after having nothing but Agamemnon's cruel hand as contact for so long.

"Thank you…" she murmured quietly, wincing only slightly as he cleaned the split in her lip.

The man shook his head, "No thanks is needed. My wife would never look at me again if she were to find out I let a woman's hurts go uncared for. And what sort of model to my son would I be?"

"He'll be angry," she warned. Neither of them needed her to elaborate to know she was speaking of Agamemnon. "He gave orders that I was not to be helped."

"A woman should never be treated as you are being," Odysseus shook his head, looking pointedly into her eyes. "Much less a princess."

"You know me then?"

"Of course," he gave a slight smile. "You are Cassandra of Troy. No amount of bruising could disguise you."

"And who are you?" She frowned slightly, the quiet tremor of fear in her voice slowly working out as she spoke with him. She was relaxing in his presence, his kindness towards her reassuring the battered girl.

Cassandra did recognize the man. It was the same tanned man with the small green eyes she had glimpsed almost three weeks before at the tent's entrance. He had been arguing with Agamemnon… urging the king to negotiate with Achilles.

"A friend," Odysseus assured her with a smile. "My name is Odysseus."

Cassandra knew the name. "King of Ithaca?"

"So you've heard of me?" he chuckled lightly. Her face now clear of blood, the extent of her bruising did not look quite so horrifying, though it was still bad. Odysseus sighed silently… he could not understand how a man could bring himself to hurt a woman so severely. Enemy princess or not, Agamemnon had gone too far.

"In passing," she nodded. "My brother, Hector, has told me stories. In Troy you are considered cunning…"

He laughed again, handsome face warm and smiling. "Yes, well… we all have our talents." The pointed look he suddenly regarded her with drew a frown from the princess, her body stiffening pride-fully.

"Do you mock me, King of Ithaca?"

"No, no," he shook his head. She had seemed so meek mere moments ago, but it would seem the Trojan princess was more then first impressions could account for. She had spirit in her. A fire Agamemnon did not seem to have yet beaten out of her. She was wounded, but not so broken yet. "I've merely heard stories myself, is all."

"And what have you heard? What am I to the Greeks?" She demanded. "Unfortunate, weak-minded daughter of Priam? Do you and your people think me mad?"

"Let ignorant men say what they will. I have seen now for myself that you are far from weak, Cassandra of Troy." He offered another small smile from behind the beard on his chin and cheeks.

The defensive line of her shoulders relaxed somewhat, some of the remaining tension Odysseus was sure resulted from the pain of being tied as she was for so long, but he was also aware that some of it was for him. She seemed to have been appeased for now though, even as her split lips pressed into a thin line and dark eyes contemplated him almost suspiciously – like she was looking to catch him in a lie of some kind.

Cassandra watched the king drop the used cloth to the side, eyes narrowing slightly on his handsome face. "Why have you come to me? You are a Greek… do you not despise me the same as your countrymen do? Simply because I am Trojan?"

"Trojan, Greek… a woman in need is a woman in need despite the shore from which she comes. I could not stay away knowing you were being so mistreated as you are." Odysseus dropped his head, an amused smile threatening to stretch his lips, "But mostly it was to sate the concerns of a mutual friend."

"Achilles?"

Odysseus watched a light brighten in the Trojan princess' eyes at the mentioning of the warrior. He nodded in answer; it was both amusing and troubling to see how positively she reacted just to the uttering of his blond friend's name. It seemed the favor ran both ways between them. Such a thing could be dangerous…

Heat blossomed in Cassandra's chest. She could not help the smile that softly curled her lips. She was on her Lion's mind? He was truly concerned for her? It made her feel heady and light, shy, but outrageously happy.

"I must ask," Odysseus caught her attention once more, face suddenly serious. "Are you hurt elsewhere?" He watched her consider her self for a brief moment before she shook her head.

"No. I do not think so."

"Has Agamemnon… violated you?" He stumbled on the question slightly and watched carefully for her reaction. The good king was not sure what he would be able to do or even what he should do if she confirmed what he already assumed and feared to be true.

Cassandra swallowed thickly, shoulders tensing again. "No… no, he hasn't." She shook her head, dropping her gaze from Odysseus', "Not yet at least."

He was surprised, but thankful. He had nearly been willing to bet that violating Cassandra had been the first thing Agamemnon had done to the poor girl. It seemed though that he preferred to beat out his rage and frustrations on her instead. He sent up silent thanks to the gods that he would not have to bring such terrible news to Achilles later. Odysseus did not have a doubt in his mind that the blond warrior would have gone blind with rage, killing and burning everyone and thing on this beach if news that Agamemnon had violated the Trojan princess were brought to him.

"Good," Odysseus breathed. "That is good."

"Odysseus…" she began hesitantly after a moment of silence between them. "May I ask you something?"

"Of course," he nodded, curiosity piqued.

"You will answer me honestly?"

He hesitated a moment, nodding again, slower this time as he regarded her. "Yes… I will do my best to do so."

"The battle yesterday… when Menelaus was killed," she lifted hopeful eyes to the good king, though she tried not to let too much emotion show as she looked at him. "You were there?" She shifted as Odysseus nodded. "So… you saw my brothers then?"

"I did."

"How were they? I heard that it was Paris who challenged Menelaus, but Hector who killed him. Is it true?" Her brow furrowed sharply, "Paris is well? Was he hurt?"

Odysseus watched the light return once more to her eyes, brighter still as she spoke of her family – her beloved brothers. He saw fear in her eyes again, flecked around the inky black of her pupil. The good king could see that she was terrified of what he might have to say concerning the two Trojan princes. He sighed, taking pity on her and answering accordingly.

"The Prince Paris was wounded," he confessed, watching the fear in her suddenly expand. He lifted a palm to calm her, "Menelaus' sword cut into his leg. He will be fine, do not worry."

She nodded, letting out a breath. "And Hector?"

It was strange to Odysseus, to be sitting here and reassuring a bound and captive woman that her brothers were well – brothers who were by ever right his enemies. She deserved to know though, he reasoned. And looking at her, watching the emotion that flowed within the depths of her large brown eyes, he found he could not refuse the girl. And he could not fault her either… if their positions had been switched he would be desperate to hear word of his family's well being as well.

"A brave, honorable man and fierce warrior," Odysseus nodded. "I respect him greatly." He sighed, "And his victory yesterday… it was well deserved."

They stared at one another for a long moment; Cassandra was fully aware of the magnitude of the compliment Odysseus had just paid her brother. As well as the insult he had paid Agamemnon.

She gave him a smile, "I like you, Good King of Ithaca. Despite what stories tell, you too seem an honorable man to me. I am sure your wife and son are proud."

"One can only hope," Odysseus nodded his thanks to the bound princess. He cast a look around him, rising to his feet, "I am sorry to say that I must go now. But I will come again and speak with Agamemnon…"

"You go to Achilles now?"

He hesitated and looked over her critically before answering. "I might… he is not so open to visitors at the moment."

"Oh…" Cassandra averted her gaze from the king that stood over her now.

"Tell me…" Odysseus began as he watched the bound girl, small green eyes becoming smaller still as he squinted down at her. "You speak as though you are fond of him, but you could not have known him more then an hour before you were brought here."

"In all stories we are told, there is some truth to them," Cassandra explained slowly to the man. "He is familiar to me, though not as you may think. He is my Lion."

Odysseus was not sure what to make of that, but he nodded any way and took her answer for what it was worth. Though how much it was worth… he was not sure of that either.

* * *

PLEASE REVIEW


	8. Chapter 8

**SPECIAL THANKS TO REVIEWERS!**

Chapter Eight

Odysseus did not see Achilles that day after his brief time with the captive Trojan princess. He had meant to, if only to assure the unstable warrior that she was alive. A bit worse for wear, but she was alive. But he had not been given a moment's peace once he'd left Agamemnon's tent. He had been distracted by thoughts of the girl all day though, his mind often wandering back to her and wondering whether or not she had endured more abuse upon Agamemnon's return. He that prayed she had not…

By evening, however, he was in Agamemnon's tent once more. His pretense for the visit was different this time; he came not as a compassionate, curious man, but as a king under Agamemnon's command. Even so, as he entered the tent his eyes immediately went to the bound figure anchored near to the king's throne. The girl did not notice his arrival so much, or if she had she did not show it – she seemed preoccupied with trying her damndest to make herself invisible as Agamemnon slouched partially over her with a goblet in his hand and glazed look to his eyes.

The king was nearly drunk… Odysseus could only imagine the terror that must run through the poor girl's head whenever Agamemnon's accusing, wine clouded gaze fell over her.

Odysseus took a silent seat on a low bench beside a try of fruits, helping himself to a few fat grapes. Across from him sat Nestor, his white head bowed, eyes lifting only enough to glance over Odysseus in silent greeting.

The air in the tent was stagnant and heavy. Tense.

"They're laughing at me in Troy..." Agamemnon shattered the silence, but compounded the ill ease around all of them. His eyes were down to the side, on the dark curls of the captive princess. His goblet passed from one hand to the other and then he reached down to grasp a fistful of those curls and pulled back until all three men heard Cassandra's grasp of protest and her face became visible, neck forced in an intense arch.

Odysseus felt the itch to protest as he watched, shifting slightly on the bench as though he meant to rise to the girl's aide. He felt Nestor looking at him and he fell still again.

"You. Your father. Your _brothers_," Agamemnon spat out the words, particularly venomous at the mentioning of the two princes of Troy. "Filth. Dogs."

Odysseus watched Cassandra's fingers curl her bound hands into fists against the pole. Defiance etched into her features and stiffened in her back and in her shoulders. Her eyes returned the king's stare, hot and disgusted, a challenge issued from their brown depths. The King of Ithaca had to respect the girl for her strength if nothing else – he knew how truly frightened she was of Agamemnon, of what he could do. He'd seen it for him self, consuming those same fierce brown eyes only this morning. But even through her fear she was strong, unyielding – she would not bend and she would not submit.

The more and more Odysseus watched her, the more and more of Hector he saw in her. He imagined the pride that would fill her every pour if he were to tell her such a thing.

"You are damned, _king of kings_," Cassandra matched the cruel man's tone for tone. Her eyes bore into his, jaw tight, full of hate. "Hellfire calls your name."

"A prophecy?" Agamemnon's hand twisted in her hair at her gall. He sneered at her, mocking. "Do the Gods whisper this in your ears, Dog Princess?"

"I need no whispers to know a damned man when I see one." Odysseus saw the slight tremble in her as she struggled to keep from wincing or crying out to the vicious pull of her hair. "Before long, you will joining your filthy brother."

He backhanded her so quickly that not even Odysseus realized he'd done it until her yelp pierced the air around them. His hands fisted as he watched her reel back against the pole she was bound to. Agamemnon was up and out of his throne now, but Odysseus' eyes were trained on the now openly trembling girl as she hugged the pole defensively and hid her face from them once again.

"These Trojans," Agamemnon was saying. "Bold. Drunk with victory! They all think I'll sail home at first light!"

"Maybe we should," Odysseus said as he finally tore his gaze from the captive girl. He disguised the tension in his jaw by eating another grape while Agamemnon whirled around on him.

"Flee? Like a whipped dog?" Agamemnon looked from Odysseus to Nestor like the green-eyed king had lost his mind.

"The men believe we came here for Menelaus' wife," Odysseus continued, ignoring Agamemnon's silent insult. He looked up, expression blank, but a slight air of humor and mockery punctuated his words, "…Won't be needing her anymore."

"My brother's blood still wets the sand and _you_ insult him!"

"It is no insult to say that a dead man is dead," Odysseus' brow twitched slightly, rolling another grape between his fingers.

The two men stared at each other, Odysseus' irritation and hostility for Agamemnon's treatment of Cassandra barely contained in his accusing green eyes. Agamemnon's own gaze narrowed at the expression the Ithacan wore for him, glimpsing the emotions and accusations. The Mycenaean king spared a glance between Cassandra and Odysseus…

"If we leave now," Nestor broke into the silent battle between the two men, "we lose all credibility." Odysseus dropped his gaze and head, breaking his stare from Agamemnon and the volatile king stepped away, returning to his throne as Nestor continued. "The Trojans can beat us so easily. How long before the Hittites invade?"

"If we stay," Odysseus began again, "we stay here for the _right_ reasons." Agamemnon turned just before reaching his throne and Cassandra, meeting a once again accusing green stare. "To protect Greece, not your pride. And your private battle with Achilles is destroying us."

"Achilles is one man," Agamemnon shook his head.

"_Hector_ is one man," Odysseus stressed and watched as Cassandra shifted at the mention of her brother. "Look what he did to us today."

"Hector fights for his country!" Agamemnon bellowed, "Achilles fights only for himself!"

"I don't care about the man's allegiance. I care about his ability to win battles."

"He's right." Nestor's voice drew Agamemnon's stare momentarily away from Odysseus. "The men's moral is weak…"

Agamemnon stepped away from his throne again and Odysseus bowed his head, letting out a silent breath of relief as the man also moved further away from Cassandra as well. "Even if I could make peace with Achilles, the man won't listen to me! He's as likely to _spear _me as _speak_ to me!"

"Only as you deserve," Cassandra spat out, head lifting to glare as well.

Rage flared in Agamemnon and the king took one violently intended step towards the bound Trojan. Odysseus jumped to his feet, positioning himself between the man and girl before Agamemnon could draw any closer to her. Nestor and Agamemnon both looked startled by the Ithacan king, though Agamemnon's surprise vanished in favor of anger quickly.

"Protecting the Trojan whore?" Agamemnon bellowed, "To who is _your_ allegiance, Odysseus?"

Odysseus did not answer the king's question. "Negotiate. Achilles is an intelligent man; if you speak with him as such he will listen. Do not play games, negotiate."

"So I am to bend to his every will?" Agamemnon drew himself up, prideful as ever. "Ask him his terms and give him everything he wants?"

"He will ask for only one thing," Odysseus assured the other man. He still would not allow Agamemnon to come any closer to Cassandra.

"And what is that?"

"He'll want the girl back," Nestor provided for Agamemnon and Odysseus nodded affirmation.

"No!" Agamemnon raged, throwing his goblet aside. The remaining wine within stained the rug it landed on, the cup tumbling and rolling on the floor before it finally stopped. The Mycenaean king attempted to shovel past Odysseus, but the good king would not let him and Agamemnon's anger compounded. "Stand aside!"

"He takes your theft of her as insult," Odysseus said, not moving, lifting his palms to the raging king. "Keeping her here only convinces him of such. Until he has her back he will not fight. He will leave."

"Let him go then! I don't need him!" Agamemnon finally shoveled past Odysseus and immediately towed over Cassandra, hand in her hair again and pulling her as far from the pole as her bounds would allow. Possessive of her and roughly combing his fingers through her hair, "She is mine!"

The fear was back in Cassandra's eyes and they were on Odysseus.

"If you keep her then she is right." Odysseus forced words from a tense jaw and pointed at Agamemnon, "You are damned and you condemn the men to the same fate."

Agamemnon fell silent, looking from Odysseus to Nestor. When Nestor nodded agreement with Odysseus' accusation, the Mycenaean king's jaw tensed in defiance and his hand clenched against Cassandra's skull. "She is not up for bargaining!"

"Then you lose Achilles and you will lose this war!" Odysseus was shouting now as well. "And if you raise your hand to her again you will lose Ithaca as well!"

All three men knew Odysseus' threat might as well have been an empty one. If Odysseus pulled Ithaca from this battle, he would have Agamemnon's wrath upon his head as well… and Ithaca just simply could not afford an enemy like Agamemnon. Even so, the declaration stilled them all.

"Fine," Agamemnon finally relented and released Cassandra's hair with a vicious shove that had her bracing herself against the pole to keep her head from colliding with it. "Take her! He can have the damn girl."

Odysseus watched and listened as Agamemnon stormed out of the main room and past a tapestry into his private quarters. The sound of belongings being upturned and thrown around in his wake filtered out to them and Odysseus might have found it amusing, as Achilles had acted the exact same way when he'd lost Cassandra, but the Ithacan king was preoccupied with the girl herself at the moment. He felt Nestor watching him as he crouched down to Cassandra's level and began working away at the cording that bound her to the pole.

"That could have been very foolish," Nestor was saying.

"Righting a wrong is never foolish," Odysseus spoke over his shoulder as slowly, but surely, he freed Cassandra's wrists. He looked her straight in the eyes, "Can you stand?"

She gasped as her hands were freed, drawing them to her chest. The muscles in her arms flared and ached, being used again after so long of being stuck in only one position. The limbs felt heavy and her body was hesitant to let her move them, but she reached out to the pole once more and attempted to pull herself to her feet with it's help.

Cassandra's legs shook violently, burning with liquid hellfire. She drew in a shaking breath, gritting her teeth together as she pushed herself up the pole with all her might. Her legs gave out beneath her and she dropped down on the floor, breathing hard – three long weeks without use had turned them to jelly. They would not function properly.

"No," she gasped, a sheen of sweat beading over her face from the strain. "I… I can't."

"Alright, alright… it's alright," he spoke softly, trying to sooth her as tears of frustration and not a little pain sprung up into her eyes. "Here… let me have your arm…"

Cassandra felt a sob bubbling up her throat as she did as she was told, holding out her hand and arm to Odysseus and allowing him to draw it up and around his shoulders and the back of his neck. She sucked in a harsh breath as one hand steadied her back and the other scoped up beneath her useless knees. He stood and she was lifted up with him, her hand clutching the cloth of his tunic near the back of his neck and her face turning inward to his shoulder. She could not help but weep as she was carried away and out of this most hated place – relief flooding her. Finally, the abuse was over.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

Achilles was starting to get a bit stir-crazy. He'd been able to keep himself from fully losing his mind through practice matches with Patroclus and his men, but he was itching for battle. He felt… lazy, watching Agamemnon's army, and Patroclus' accusing stares weren't helping matters. His cousin had refrained from actual verbal arguments since their last nearly a week ago, but Patroclus had never needed to open his mouth for Achilles to hear him.

He refused to relent though. Either Agamemnon would give him what he wanted or he would leave – Achilles would win either way. Though, in all honesty, he preferred one victory to the other. It did not seem he would get his pick…

He was just beginning to contemplate rising up from his reclined position to seek out Eudorus and tell him to ready the ships to leave at morning light when the sound of someone approaching caught his attention. The steps weren't exactly heavy, but they were agitated and he didn't recognize the gait. His hand curled around the but of his closest weapon, prepared to meet any threat that may come – what actually came… he wasn't prepared for.

A man came barreling into his hut, arms full.

"Odysseus…" Achilles frowned, relaxing his hand but not his expression.

The Ithacan king did not respond to him and Achilles watched as he shouldered past the canvas and leather flaps and to a bed of furs the blond had piled against one wall. He placed a girl on those furs… not just a girl, Achilles realized a split second later.

Cassandra.

Odysseus set the girl down – she'd stopped crying for the most part, but her face was wet and she was still shaking, breathing still a bit labored. He eased her from his arms, but found that the hand she had clenched in his tunic would not release. Not only would she not let him go, but she pulled him in as well. Cassandra pressed her forehead into his jaw, her other hand lifting to grasp his tunic at his other shoulder as well and just hold to him.

"Thank you…" she finally croaked out. "Thank you, thank you… Thank you."

"Sshhh…" Odysseus pressed his hand to the girl's back as she thanked him, once more trying to sooth her. He carefully pulled her hands from his shoulders and eased her down onto her back on the furs, whispering, "You're alright. You just lay down now, close your eyes and sleep… you are safe now."

Cassandra stared up at him as he settled her hands down and folded one over the other on her stomach. She nodded slowly, taking a deep, shaky breath and did as she was told. Odysseus and Achilles both watched as she closed her eyes and fell asleep what seemed only the next second later.

Odysseus shook his head as he sat back on his heels, sighing in relief himself, "…absolutely exhausted." He turned his head to look at Achilles, "Poor thing."

Achilles had yet to say a word. He sat, half crouched, stuck between sitting and standing, staring at the girl Odysseus had soothed into slumber.

"Leave her be for now. Let her rest," Odysseus was saying as he looked over the other man's expression. He'd never seen Achilles look so surprised before. "She has endured much more then is her due."

Achilles looked at her then. Really looked at her as Odysseus pushed to his feet and took a step back. Her face was shadowed to him, but not enough so that he couldn't see the bruising along her jaw and cheek, perfect fingerprints painted in blue and healing yellow-green on her neck. The scrap of rings and hard knuckles split her lip and cut her brow. Blue eyes followed dirt and blood speckled white linen to her folded hands – her wrists were raw and angry with rope burns. Of what he could see of her arms… they were much like her face and neck, bruised. Her feet were bare, legs instinctively curling under her in what must have been the position she'd been bound in for the last three weeks. And she was thin. Far too thin.

He felt the same anger he'd felt the day Agamemnon's guards dragged her into the Mycenaean's tent flare in his gut. He looked up at the green-eyed king standing in the middle of the hut, hands clasped behind his neck and watching him with the kind of wary gaze that told Achilles he knew exactly what was running through his head.

"I'm sure some of it was done by Menelaus," Odysseus explained. His brow jumped, head tilting from one side to the other, "…before yesterday at least."

"You're making excuses for him now?"

"You know I'm not," Odysseus gave his friend a frown. The Ithacan king sighed, frown falling from his face as he looked to the deeply sleeping Trojan. "He did no lasting damage at least. No more then some rest and a few good meals won't fix."

Achilles turned eyes back to Cassandra. He understood what Odysseus was telling him – Agamemnon had been cruel, a monster, but he had at least had enough sense not to force the girl to his bed.

"Achilles… you are expected to fight from here on. That was the negotiation."

"He lives to see another day," Achilles growled. "That is _my_ negotiation."

Odysseus shook his head. "You need to lay down your pride now. I took her from him tonight under the pretense that this battle between you and he would come to an end. If you do not abide by this, he will take her again." The good king turned eyes back to Cassandra, watching her sleep. "And I can not promise you that I can take her from him again. No more then I can promise the damage he does once he has her will not be irreversible."

Achilles was silent.

"You wanted her." Odysseus gestured down to her, "I have brought her to you. Now, whatever you do with her, you must be responsible. Whatever happens to her is on your hands now."

Achilles nodded slowly, letting what his friend said actually filter through. He knew Odysseus was right, he understood. And despite his own feelings towards Agamemnon, he knew how things had to be. He'd like to think a thing like Cassandra's theft from his hut would never happen again – one look at her and he knew he couldn't risk it.

"You tell Agamemnon," Achilles began, fixing Odysseus with a stare. The Ithacan king was sure the burn he felt from it couldn't have entirely been his imagination. "That if he ever touches her again… if he ever comes _near_ her again… I will kill him. And dead men need no armies."

Satisfied, Odysseus nodded. He remained standing where he was a moment longer, looking over Cassandra and the blond warrior that watched her every breath with the intensity of a wild animal stalking prey… a Lion, he recalled Cassandra describing Achilles. Yes, it was true. He watched over her like a Lion, fiercely guarding what was his.

"I will have Eudorus bring food and drink."

Achilles nodded as Odysseus left. The warrior reclined back against the wall, as he'd been before the Ithacan king came in, blue eyes trained on the sleeping girl lain out on his furs.

* * *

**PLEASE REVIEW**


	9. Chapter 9

**SPECIAL THANKS TO REVIEWERS!**

Chapter Nine

_Warm._

_Not hot, but warm._

_The sun reflected off his hair as though it were spun from gold. His bronze skin was for once relaxed, his body reclining in the sand. His face was turned, eyes to the sea, a glare of light obscuring his expression from her view. On one elbow he rest back, his body cutting a hard line over the earth…_

_A Lion basking in the setting sunlight._

_Slowly, his head turned. The light of the sun shot a ban across his eyes, turning blue to honey as they absorbed it._

_The hint of a smile touched his lips..._

Cassandra inhaled deeply as her eyelids fluttered. The dream – vision, perhaps? – swept away by the winds of reality as brown eyes slowly opened. She stared straight ahead as canvas and dark wood, slight blurred with the remains of sleep, and she did not at once realize it was the wall of a hut she stared at. The softness of furs beneath her body registered slowly and she drew the back of her hand over the soft bedding. Aches began to awaken next - in her arms and legs, back and side, along her face – and with them came the memory of the man who had caused them.

A small frown touched her brow.

Again she passed the back of her hand over the furs, watching the red-raw limb. Her wrists were no longer bound. As she thought on, Cassandra realized that she was laying comfortably on her back, arms free, without the biting presence of a pole anywhere around her. The furs entered her mind again… Agamemnon had never allowed her the comfort of resting on a soft, forgiving surface.

Odysseus…

She closed her eyes again, remembering the bearded face and small green eyes - the careful hands that had freed her and carried her away to safety. He had taken her away from Agamemnon. She remembered it now, remembered it all. The Ithacan king had shielded her from the Mycenaean as best he'd been able, taken her away from him and brought her to…

To where?

Cassandra opened her eyes again and looked across at the wall in front of her once again. Canvas and dark wood… turning her head she looked up to the ceiling of the hut. More of the same canvas. Once more she turned her head, to look out to her left, and she saw him then…

Achilles was reclining on a bed across the way from her. In his hand was a goblet and beside him sat a tray of fruits and bread and meats. He was watching her, blue eyes shadowed by the relatively low lighting in the hut. Expression lax, he looked settled and comfortable, as though he'd been there watching her like that for quite some time now.

"You are so different," she began slowly, hearing the dry crack of her throat as she spoke. "So different from my dreams."

Achilles arched a brow at her, "You have dreamt of me?"

"Many times," she smiled and let her eyes close again. She felt so heavy, exhausted, and the furs she lay upon felt so good.

She heard the rustle of cloth and knew he had moved, but she did not open her eyes again. She couldn't – the lids would not budge. He crouched down near to her; she could feel him – his warm, powerful presence. "You need to eat," she heard him say, but did not respond. "Cassandra…"

A smile touched her lips and her head turned just so towards him, "You remember my name?"

"Of course," he snorted softly. "It took so long to convince you to share it. I wouldn't soon forget it." Achilles watched her again as she fell silent – he watched the rise and fall of her chest, listened to the sound of her breathing. She seemed to be falling back asleep.

He reached out and placed a hand against the top of her head, feeling the soft curls of her hair. Achilles passed another critical eye over her – undernourished and bruised, but she was still beautiful. How could Agamemnon want to mar such a face? Such a brilliant beauty? It was a crime, the worst kind a man could commit…

"I never imagined you would be a gentle man," her quiet voice filtered through to him and he swallowed softly, hand stilling on her head.

"Don't not be fooled by soft voice and hand," Achilles said, tone lightly teasing. "Perhaps it is all a charade, a farce, to lull you into a false sense of security before I reveal my true colors?"

Cassandra smiled, brow jumping lightly, "What color is that?"

"Perhaps a nasty color?"

"No," Cassandra lazily shook her head. A sigh left her as she settled heavily against the furs beneath her, an easy smile on her lips. "You are made of gold, my Lion. Fierce, beautiful gold."

Achilles lifted his hand from her hair as if burned by the soft, dark strands. He watched and listened as her breathing changed and she fell once more beneath the sheet of sleep. Calling him gentle, made of gold… as flattering as it all sounded, the warrior was not sure what to make of the girl's words. He was used to praise – by the sword, for battle, strength, aggression and ability. Not for gentleness.

Gentle seemed the last thing anyone could praise him, Achilles, for. He was not a gentle man, never had been. Yet Cassandra had called him such, and the smile on her lips as she'd said it… suddenly, he could almost believe her.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

"Achilles - !"

Patroclus was silenced by the sight of his cousin - the golden warrior sat on the edge of his bed, knees spread and an elbow resting on each. Achilles held a finger to his lips, calling for quiet and Patroclus frowned, following the other man's eyes as they flicked away from him and across to a pile of furs. He saw the slumbering figure then and his mouth shut with a snap, brow furrowing over in disapproval.

"So it's true then," Patroclus observed quietly as he looked between the girl and his cousin. "Honestly, of all the foolish things you could have done…"

Achilles did not grace his cousin with a response. Cassandra had fallen back asleep roughly an hour ago and he'd spent that time observing her once again, taking all the time in the world to memorize the slope of her nose and curve of her jaw, the line of her neck, swell of her chest and dip of her abdomen to hips and legs. If Patroclus' response was anything to go by, Achilles was certain his cousin had taken a leisurely look at her himself.

"By Aphrodite… she is lovely though." Patroclus bite down on the corner of his mouth, thoughtful as he looked over the sleeping Trojan. "What do you intend to do with her?"

Achilles shook his head, "I do not know. I didn't think so far beyond having her back."

"You could have made more practical demands, you know." The disapproval was back in Patroclus' voice, "Armor, weapons, horses… you could have made any demand under the sun and Agamemnon would have given it to have you back. Instead, you ask for a girl."

Achilles could only shrug.

"Well…" Patroclus sighed, brow furrowing over as he attempted to come up with something to save the apparent blunder he thought his cousin had made. "Perhaps we could ransom her back to Priam? She's his daughter, so I'm sure he'd be willing to pay a fine price for her return."

"No," Achilles immediately snapped. "If I had wanted more wealth, I would have taken it."

"What else is she good for then?" Patroclus responded to the snap in kind, "She's just a pretty face and an extra mouth to feed. At the very least give her to the men!"

"She is not to be touched," Achilles growled. He fixed Patroclus with a fierce glare, challenging him, as if daring his cousin to disobey.

"Not even by you?" Patroclus taunted, gesturing down to the Trojan girl, "With a face so pretty, why wouldn't you? Her touch is obviously delicate – it would do you well to have her hands upon you, wouldn't it?"

"Patroclus…" Achilles' tone was clearly warning.

"You've never denied yourself the company of a beautiful woman before. Why start now?" Patroclus eyed Cassandra again, a bit differently this time. "If you're going to keep her then at least put her to some use…"

The way his cousin looked at the sleeping girl unsettled Achilles, enough so at least to push him up to his feet. He glared at his cousin, his tone promising swift and terrible punishment if the younger blond stepped over his boundaries. "She is not to be touched. Not even by you, cousin."

"She's only a Trojan." Patroclus snapped, clearly not liking Achilles' refusal to his unspoken request. "You _should_ kill her."

Turning and storming out of the hut, Patroclus left his cousin without another word. A part of Achilles agreed with his cousin – yes, he should kill her simply because she was Trojan and he was Greek, because she was the daughter of the king who was supposedly his enemy. Even though it seemed the right thing to do by war, it was far from what seemed right to him as a man.

He would not ransom her and he would not pass her out as a whore. And most of all, he would not kill her.

She was too beautiful to kill, anyway.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

When next Cassandra woke, she was not quite so disoriented and even managed to sit herself upright on the furs that had obviously become her bed. She felt better – undisturbed, deep rest had done her a world of good. Even the ache of her side had subsided and she was doubly thankful for that.

A glance around told her that Achilles was not present, but the tray of food and water filled chalice sitting on a low stand near to her spoke that he had been here not long ago. And that he had anticipated her return to consciousness along with her painful thirst and ravenous hunger. She helped herself to fruit and pieces of meat, drinking greedily from the cup in between bites. Never before had an apple or grapes tasted so sweet on her tongue as they suddenly did now. It was almost too much for her to handle all at once, but she was sincerely up for the challenge and brought another plump, dark purple grape to her lips.

So enraptured by this long overdue meal was she that Cassandra did not notice the men who entered the hut.

"She lives."

The humor filled voice nearly made her jump and she turned up large brown eyes to the familiar blond and his dark-haired companion. Her hand froze, another grape between her fingers and poised before her lips.

"Please, don't stop on my account." Achilles assured her, turning to the man who'd come in with him, "Fill her cup. Have more food brought in."

"No…" Cassandra held up her hand as the man nodded and jumped to fulfill Achilles' orders, crouching down near her to fill her cup. "No… no more food. This is more then enough."

"You're sure?" Achilles was pouring wine for himself, looking from Cassandra to Eudorus who was still crouching and looking completely unsure of him self and waiting for his next orders.

"I'm sure. Thank you," she nodded and popped the grape she held into her mouth, eating much slower now that she had company.

"Fine." Achilles nodded to Eudorus, watching the man stand. He gestured at him for Cassandra, "This is Eudorus. If I'm not here, you call on him for anything you need."

Cassandra nodded, watching the dark-haired soldier do the same and incline his head to her. His pale eyes did not reach hers though and he looked horribly uncertain of the whole situation he found himself in.

"I recognize you," she said to him suddenly and his head finally lifted. "From before. And the temple… you were there, weren't you?"

Eudorus cleared his throat, looking to Achilles and back to Cassandra, "I was."

Achilles had stilled to consider the Trojan princess and his best man, blue eyes narrowed as he watched Eudorus' palms curl and uncurl nervously at his sides. The man was anxious to leave, he could tell and thoughts to why being in Cassandra's presence could unsettle him so started flitting around in his mind.

"Did you… I mean, was another young woman found there?" Cassandra finally got out, searching Eudorus' face carefully. "A priestess?"

Unease slipped from Eudorus' face and was replaced with mild confusion, "…no."

Cassandra let out a breath of relief. Briseis had escaped. Both Eudorus and Achilles were eyeing her as if waiting for her to continue and explain her question, but she shook her head in refusal and turned back instead to the remaining fruit on the tray before her. Achilles dismissed Eudorus shortly after, the dark-haired soldier sending one last look over his shoulder at Cassandra before leaving his lord's hut.

"Your men are loyal to you," Cassandra observed some time later as Achilles sat sharpening a blade. "What sort of lord are you to have such loyal followers?"

"My own lord." Achilles responded distractedly, "I am Lord of the Myrmidons, the sons of Zeus."

"Sons of Zeus?" She smirked, "You think awfully high of yourself, mighty Achilles."

"Says the woman who calls me a mighty lion of gold," he tossed a glance her way, lips quirked to one side and tone nothing but equally teasing as her own.

"Praise from another and praise of one's self are two entirely different things." She reclined on an elbow, comforted by the cushion of fur beneath her still sore and tired body. "You are no son of Zeus… but you are son of someone. Who?"

"Peleus."

"Son of Peleus," she nodded as though she understood perfectly whom he spoke of. Achilles was inclined to think she didn't actually know anything about Peleus, once king of Phthia. "And your mother?"

The blond hesitated in his work, stone stilling over his blade so that he may turn his head to look at her fully and without distraction. He frowned, "Why?"

"Why not?"

"Hardly seems like an interest of yours…"

"Who are you to presume what interests me, Achilles, Son of Peleus, Lord of the Myrmidons?" She arched a brow at him and all at once Achilles was very much aware that she was a royal, a princess, and not just any ordinary Trojan woman. When he only stared she let out a sigh, "The way I see it, you and I shall be spending obscene amounts time together. I prefer to know _something_ of my companions."

"What makes you think we will be together long? I could kill you."

"But you won't." She looked at him pointedly, expression bland except in her eyes – that look was there once more. The one that made Achilles' skin crawl and his stomach tighten. That look as though she knew far more then she should, had seen more then she should – as though she knew a part of him not even he did.

"You can be so sure?" he managed to counter.

Cassandra nodded, "If you were going to kill me you already would have. And you've had ample opportunity… why comfort me with food and soft furs if your only intention was to kill me?"

"Perhaps I am only tricking you."

She chuckled, "You are not so cunning as that." He watched as her expression softened over him, "Nor are you so cruel."

"Thetis," he forced around a heavy swallow, looking away from her face and that soft expression – changing the topic of their discussion as well - quickly. He returned his attention to his sword and the stone he used to sharpen the blade, forcing a frown to his face, no longer trusting himself to look at her and remain the certain, steady warrior he'd always been so sure that he was. "My mother's name is Thetis."

"Have you any siblings?"

He shook his head in the negative, "No. I have a cousin."

"Boy or girl?"

"Boy," Achilles explained easily. "Patroclus. You will likely meet him; he has a tendency to barge in here unannounced."

She chuckled softly as Achilles spoke of his cousin. "I have a cousin as well," she shared. "Her name is Briseis. She is a priestess, a servant of Apollo."

"The young woman you asked Eudorus about?" He watched her nod, "She was with you?"

Cassandra nodded, "Yes. I had no desire to be alone in Apollo's presence. I hid her when your men attacked… I can only assume she escaped."

"It's likely," he nodded. "Had my men found her, I would have been told."

"And you would tell me? Honestly, if she had been found?"

He looked at her again then, despite his own best interests. He nodded once, "I have no reason to lie over a priestess." She looked over his face as though looking to catch him in a lie and he held her gaze when she fixed him with what felt very much like a soul-deep stare.

Eventually, she nodded, seemingly satisfied with what she had seen in him, and released his eyes. Achilles was almost ashamed of the relief that flooded him when her eyes left his.

"Why were you there?" He finally forced out the question, simply to disrupt the silence. It was so heavy on his end he felt as though he were being crushed. "You said once you were there to pray, but… you don't speak the names of the gods as though you terribly respect them."

"I respect the gods," she was quick to assure the blond. She sat up a bit more, back straightening and jaw tightening – Achilles found it amusing.

"Relax," he held up a defensive palm to her, that quirk back to his lips. "I was not accusing you. Simply making an observation."

Cassandra took a moment and then relented, nodding slightly and relaxing back comfortably again. Jerking upright like she had had put a strain on her aching muscles and she was glad to rest back again.

"Especially Apollo, I've noticed," Achilles continued. "You pray, but you are not his servant. You go to his temple, but went with your cousin so as not to be alone with him. He watches, but does not protect you. You speak his name, but… you do not speak it fondly."

"Apollo and I…" she began, but hesitated. She frowned hotly, huffing lightly and tried again, looking very much the determined young woman that had fascinated Achilles from the very beginning. That fire flared in her eyes and he turned to it, could feel himself being drawn into it – he wanted to reach out and touch it, be burned if he must by it, so long as he reached it. "Whatever fond feelings he had for me are long gone. And I've never harbored tender sentiments for him… despite his best attempts"

"I'm sure he wasn't pleased with your reluctance of him."

She nodded, "Enough to turn a gift into a curse."

"What curse could he have bestowed upon you?" Achilles asked, eyeing her even as he spoke, "He has done nothing to your health. You are lovely… what could he have done that would be considered a curse?"

"He did what any self-respecting, scorned god would do. He struck where the most damage would be done." She sighed, shaking her head, "My health, and my face… all petty to me."

Achilles frowned, "Then what did he do?"

Cassandra hesitated again as she looked up at the blond warrior. His blade rest against his thigh, stone in one hand, but it might as well have all been forgotten from the way he watched her. She had his undivided attention. And once again, she looked into his eyes and could not bear the thought of those pale, gorgeously feral orbs darkening in mockery. Or that full mouth sneering back over teeth in disgust of her. She could not bear the thought of him laughing in her face.

She couldn't do it.

"I'd… I'd rather not say," she dropped her head and shook it slowly.

She wouldn't look him in the eye anymore – Achilles realized how serious this was to her. She'd been so curious, so talkative just moments before, but now… this was a sensitive topic for her, obviously. He watched Cassandra shut down, retreat into herself and cast wary half glances towards him, but mostly just kept her gaze away from him all together. Above all else, he sensed fear in her. Fear of what, he could not be sure – fear of Apollo or him, it could be either or perhaps even neither. Fear in him… he doubted Cassandra was afraid of him, which was both foreign and refreshing to him. Fear of Apollo… Achilles didn't understand it, but it was the only conclusion he could come to.

"You shouldn't be afraid of him."

"I'm not afraid," she immediately tensed and snapped back, just as he thought she would. Achilles was swiftly learning what all these defensive reactions really meant with her.

He held up his palm, "But you are. And you shouldn't be." He caught her eyes and held them as he eased off the edge of his bed and crossed over to her furs to crouch down more at her level, never once breaking eye contact with her. "Do you know why?" He whispered.

Her eyes flicked over his face, regarding him completely before finding his once more and holding his stare. Slowly, she shook her head and whispered back, "…no. Why?"

He held a finger to his lips, "I'll tell you a secret. Something they don't teach you in temples. Something your father and brothers and cousin don't even know. Do you want to hear it?" He watched her nod, watching him with a kind of attention and trust he had never seen in the eyes of another person looking at him.

Achilles moved up to sit on Cassandra's furs with her and felt a small pleasure curl in his lips when she shifted closer as well to hear his whispering. "The gods envy us. They envy us because we're mortal. Because any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we're doomed – and so are you." He whispered to her and she watched his eyes and the movement of his mouth, "You will never be lovelier then you are now. We will never be here again. And because of this, nothing Apollo can do to you matters at all. Because he will never see the world as you do. He will never live a life as you do. He will never change, he will never feel as you do." He shrugged a shoulder lightly, "Compared to you, he is nothing."

She dropped her gaze from his and began worrying the hem of her dress' skirt between the tips of her fingers. Glancing back up at him in a shy manner that made something in Achilles' chest shift fondly, she spoke almost cautiously. "You really believe that?"

"I know that." He assured her.

Achilles watched with a unfamiliar sense of pride as the fear dissipated from her eyes after that.

* * *

**PLEASE REVIEW**


	10. Chapter 10

**SPECIAL THANKS TO REVIEWERS! **- chapter is a bit shorter this time around, but the next should be longer.

Chapter Ten

Cassandra fell asleep with Achilles' voice in her head and his eyes on her face, the memory of faintly quirked lips lulling her as much as his assuring words. It had been a long while since she'd slept without a care or worry. It had been a long time since she'd closed her eyes at night and felt totally at ease, safe. Even at home, with Hector and guards never too far away, she'd often fallen into restless sleep with concerns and personal fears holding true deep sleep at bay.

After the secret Achilles had shared with her concerning gods and their true worth, Apollo took a backseat ride on her mind. She couldn't forget the intensity of his eyes, the honesty she'd seen in him and the way his voice, husked with whispering, had flowed over her. Washed her of worries better then any holy bath or perfumes could have. And when he'd finished… she'd honestly never felt so beautiful in all her life as she did with his eyes on her. Bruised, sore, with scrapes and dirty nails – she'd felt more stunning then in his hut, leaning on her good side on furs with him sitting beside her, than she'd ever felt within Troy's walls with all her fine clothes and ornate hairpieces.

And not only had he said she was greater than anything Apollo's wrath could inflect upon her, but he'd actually believed it.

He'd stayed there on the fur with her after that, continuing his sharpening of his blades while she picked at the fruit left over on the tray set out for her. He'd been close enough that when she'd finally given in to her sore, tired body and lain down, she'd fallen asleep with the warmth of his body radiating off of him and against her bare feet and ankles.

She woke up to Eudorus settling a tray of fresh food on the stand for her.

He went totally still when he realized she was awake and watching him, his pale eyes darting away from her face quicker then they'd landed on it. The soldier was extremely uncomfortable with her, she could tell.

"You are uneasy around me," she accused softly. "I saw it before and again I see it now. Why, Eudorus?"

Eudorus visibly swallowed, shrugging lightly, "I've… never served a princess before. I don't want to displease you."

Cassandra frowned at him and shifted up on an elbow. "No…" she shook her head. "No you… you aren't to serve me, Eudorus. I'm no princess here. Please. Please don't walk on pins and needles around me. Don't treat me any better then you would yourself."

He nodded, but the mild bob of his dark head didn't convince her.

"Eudorus," she said his name again if only to be sure he was actually listening to her as he filled her cup with water. "Have you eaten this morning?"

His eyes finally connected with hers and she held them as long as she could. The expression she found in them was sheer surprise; obviously, her question was one of the last he'd ever expected from her.

Cassandra smiled when he did not answer her. "Come," she gestured for him to join her as she sat up, "sit and eat with me."

Eudors' brow twisted over his eyes as she reached out and took an apple from the tray then held it up towards him.

"Sit and eat this apple, or risk hurting my feelings forever." She put on a sharp face, a no nonsense expression and got a small upward curl of the man's lips in return. Finally, the soldier gave in and took the offered apple. "Thank you."

"You are strange," Eudorus told her as she retrieved some fruit for herself and he took a bite from his apple.

"How so?"

"You invite a man you do not know to sit and share your meal with you," he explained while shaking his head.

"Achilles trusts you." She shrugged, "Why shouldn't I?"

"And you trust Achilles so blindly?" Eudorus looked at her, clearly perplexed by her. "He is a Hellene, you realize. Native Greek born and breed. When he fights, he fights against your people. Your brothers. When he kills, he kills your people."

This made her hesitate. "Yes… but it is my understanding he hasn't fought in three weeks."

"Only because Agamemnon insulted him by taking what my Lord considers his. You." Eudorus focused on his apple rather then her face, "Now that you've been returned he will fight again."

"I guess I didn't think about it like that…" she chewed slowly as a whole new wave of thought began to hit her.

Achilles would fight now. She knew he was a fierce warrior, arguably the best to ever live. And she knew if he fought he would eventually cross paths with her brother. Hector was an amazing man and strong warrior himself, but was he better than Achilles? She had to keep reminding herself that a lamb would kill Achilles. And Hector was no lamb.

If they were to come together in battle, Cassandra knew what would happen.

She inhaled sharply, seeing it all so clear suddenly…

_Hurt and anger radiates off one – a cry for blood and revenge._

_Guilt pours off the other._

_Sharp shrieks of swords slicing the air, crashing against shields._

_One man falls, trips, dust flying – dry clouds lifting around the gates of Troy and collecting in heaving lungs. But the battle is not at its end. _

_Heavy breathing. A mighty Horse and Lion dancing death around each other. When the kill strike comes it is the Lion's roar that remains, not the stomp of a stallion..._

Eudorus allowed her to fall silent, respecting the moment of thought he knew she was retreating into. It wasn't until she'd remained silent for a good five minutes that he glanced up to her again. What he saw was a bit troubling. Her dark eyes had clouded, warmth he'd seen previously frozen over and nearly black now. Her lips hung slightly parted, the fruit in her hand totally forgotten. She'd all but stopped breathing, staring straight ahead of her. Eudorus was no stranger to shock, but this… he'd never seen anything like this before.

"I've upset you." He said, but even his voice did not break her of the strange trance she seemed to have fallen into. Eudorus lifted a hand to the girl, in front of her face first and then gingerly placed his fingers against her wrist, "Cassandra?"

Eudorus' fingers on her startled her from the vision, and she jumped, inhaling sharply and dropping her apple. His hand left her immediately, as though she'd burned him, Eudorus startled as well. She was breathing hard, brown eyes clearing even as they filled with tears. He wasn't sure he could handle tears if they fell…

"I'm… It was not my intention to upset you."

"No… no, it's alright." Cassandra took a deep breath, steadying herself. She bent and retrieved the fallen apple, placing it back on the tray with mildly shaking hands.

Achilles was going to kill her brother.

"Where is Achilles now?" She asked, feeling shaken to the core and desperate to know Achilles was not killing Hector now.

Eudorus watched her face. A new emotion flashed across her dark eyes – desperation. "He is with Agamemnon and the other kings this morning. They are discussing future battles."

"They will fight today?"

"I do not know," Eudorus shook his head. "I fight when my Lord tells me to fight. I will know what I need to know when I need to know it. Not before."

She'd visibly calmed in the few moments since resurfacing from her vision. A slight tremble in her hands were still present, but she was breathing normally again and the desperation in her eyes had lessened upon hearing the Greeks were not on their way to Troy's gates that very moment. A small smile curled her lips, "And you accuse me of blind trust?"

Eudorus actually chuckled a little, shrugging lightly, "Yes, well… it would seem we are both guilty then."

Cassandra sat with the soldier until Eudorus had finished his apple and then made his leave. She remained calm enough, but Eudorus had seen a mild fear in her eyes no matter what she was saying to him during their time together – she seemed distracted by what he could not see or hope to know.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

Achilles still had not returned by afternoon, Eudorus had come again. Not for long though. The dark-hair soldier came with a noon meal for her and what he called a gift from his lord.

"From Achilles?" She asked, a little bewildered as she shift upright on the furs.

Eudorus nodded and handed over a bundle of cloth. "He thought you might be more comfortable in something cleaner…" He gave a mild smile, nodding his head curtly.

Cassandra accepted the bundle and unfolded what she quickly realized was a dress while Eudorus filled the washbasin for her use. The cloth was a pale blue, a darker ring along the bottom and soft with a long pleated skirt that tapered at the waist; the top was simple and boxed with a slightly slopping collar. It was sleeveless and nothing compared to the ornate garments she had at home, actually it was a lot like the one she had on, but it was clean and a gift from Achilles.

"But…" she frowned as Eudorus made to leave her, "Where did he find a dress?"

"Oh," Eudorus explained, "it was among the temple offerings. Obviously it won't do much use to anyone here so, my Lord thought you might…" He shrugged again and left.

Cassandra watched the flaps of the hut swing and then hung still. She rubbed her fingers against the clean fabric. Part of her felt odd accepting a stolen gift, pilfered from a temple at that. She could just her father's face now - the deep-set frown and disapproving shake of his head. She could see the humor in Hector's eyes as he stood behind their father, trying to keep a serious face and failing.

Then again… She took a look down at the one white garment she'd been in for three weeks. Dirty, stained, torn. She lifted the collar to her nose and took a tentative sniff. Not horrible, but… Cassandra still wrinkled her nose. And she could only imagine what her hair looked like. And she hadn't really washed her face since Odysseus had done it for her in Agamemnon's tent.

Mind made up, Cassandra shifted and slowly worked herself back up onto her legs.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

When Achilles was tired, he got fierce. Battle fierce. Raging beast fierce. And topping off being extremely tired with spending all morning and the better half of the afternoon in council with Agamemnon and a dozen other kings he couldn't care a rat's ass about, only made things worse.

He might as well have left a trail of fire with every step he took as he tore across the sand, shooting glares at any man who even so much as crossed his path. No one spoke a word to him and he saw Eudorus grab a hold of Patroclus' arm, stilling the young man when he attempted to approach his cousin – probably for the best too. Achilles could not have been held accountable for anything he did if the young man had actually approached and tore into him at that moment.

So, no one stopped him from flinging aside the flaps of his hut and charging in like a mad bull… and then freeze.

Cassandra stood at his washing basin, her back turned to him. She was leaning heavily against the basin and he could see her knees shaking under the strain of her own meager weight – three weeks without use did a number on muscles, so seeing her actually standing impressed him. Or, he would have been impressed had he not been so thoroughly distracted by the fact that she was completely bare.

She was bathing, his mind slowly realized as he took note of the wet cleaning cloth she was clutching and the bundle of her dirty dress on the floor near her feet. Her skin was clear and bright, washed moist and soft looking. She'd also cleaned her hair a bit as well; the dark curls hung a little wetly on her head – like she had combed wet hands and fingers through them over and over again. Also, he took notice that she was extremely aware of him – the fact that she'd frozen upon his entrance as well and now stood so stiff and ram-rod straight clued him in to that.

Cassandra glanced over her shoulder at him and Achilles had a momentary second of concern for her. She was so red faced he was almost certain she would pass out. She didn't though and they both just stood there as she quickly looked away and pressed her arms to her chest, her shoulders hunching slightly.

Achilles followed the line of her palm back. A livid bruise painted her side, it wrapped over slightly to her back… no wonder she favored her right side all the time. Achilles recognized the discoloration as a result of a kick and his jaw tightened, knowing Agamemnon must have done it.

Cassandra was trembling now and Achilles knew it was not from cold – he could only imagine how mortified and terrified the poor girl must be to be so vulnerable before him. He took pity on her, moving slowly over to where she had the laid out the light blue garment he'd instructed Eudorus bring for her and gathered it up in one hand.

"Turn," he ordered softly, keeping his voice low to an almost whisper as he came up behind her. She gave a shudder and he could smell the fear in her. "Calm down… You are safe with me, I'll remind you."

He watched her take another moment to steal herself before she slowly turned to face him. Achilles made to catch her eyes, but she would not meet his and kept her head slightly bowed, shoulders hunched and arms pressed to her chest to shield and protect. Her jaw was firmly set, tense – he could see that she was greatly stressed by the situation, but too proud to actually act out over it other then to vaguely shake in weaker moments. Surprising even him self, Achilles refrained from appraising the girl's body anymore then he already had – he'd just told her that she could trust him. He refused to betray that trust so soon.

The blond lifted the dress, dropping the neck over her head and pulling it down on her. Cassandra finally looked up at him, staring in total, unfounded surprise as he dressed her. She directed her arms through the proper holes, Achilles having to coax her into it a little before she moved at all.

Now dressed, Achilles allowed himself to take a look down her form. He nodded, "Suits you. I thought it would."

"…thank you." Cassandra managed softly, still looking startled and flushed as she stared up at him.

Achilles nodded. He was reaching out and touching the side of her face before he even realized he was doing it – feeling the freshly washed skin with calloused fingers, brushing into damp hair. Her rest had done her so much good – her eyes were brighter and she just looked healthier. The bruising on her face was beginning to heal, as were the scraps and minor cuts. In a week, she'd be just about good as new.

The warrior bowed his head and dropped a kiss to her forehead without really knowing why. He had just felt so compelled to do so… a single kiss, innocently placed, soft on freshly washed skin in hopes it would somehow heal all the wrong she'd endured.

And perhaps it was also a promise. A promise to shield her, clothe her, keep her clean and soft and brilliant – to never betray that trust she offered so freely to him.

* * *

**REVIEW PLEASE!**


	11. Chapter 11

**SPECIAL THANKS TO REVIEWERS! **

Chapter Eleven

It had been three full days since Achilles met with Agamemnon. Since he'd reluctantly agreed to fight the "king's" war for him. Since he'd walked in on a bathing Cassandra, dressed her, kissed her forehead and watched her prepare in silence for the night. That silence had stretched from the evening into the next morning. Achilles had been prepared for it, he'd expected it; she would be embarrassed, he rightly assumed, to have had him see what he had of her naked form. What he hadn't been prepared for was to be subjected to the silence beyond the morning, the afternoon, and further into another evening. And now, three days after the incident, they'd barely shared words at all.

Conversations no longer existed, not as they had before. When she spoke, her voice was quiet and short. She offered no more then was necessary to answer him. One, two, maybe three words at a time followed by a terrible, lengthy silence.

It had nothing to do with what he had seen. She no longer kept her body angled away from his gaze or held her arms crossed to her chest as if to shield herself. The awkward, embarrassed air around her had dissipated by the afternoon. Much like Achilles had expected it to. Whatever it was that distanced her from him now was something else entirely… and for the life of him, Achilles could not figure out what it was.

He sat on the cooling beach, a small dune of sand, watching the sun darken from white-hot yellow to rustic orange over the evening Aegean waves. The sea was calm… his mind was not. It turned and beat an angry pulse in his temple as he fought to understand what was different. What had turned the curious, talkative woman hiding away in his hut to silence? And even more pressing, why did it bother him so much that she no longer spoke with him like she had from the beginning?

Blue eyes narrowing, hands tightening around themselves as he sat with his elbows on his bent knees, Achilles realized he already knew why it bothered him. He knew. He simply wished he didn't. Cassandra's disinclination towards him burned, because he seemed to be the sole recipient. She spoke with Eudorus; he'd come in to find his second and the girl conversing over a plate of fruits. And she spoke with Odysseus; she greeted him with a warmth and affection and camaraderie he had not seen from her since the night they'd discussed Apollo. She'd fallen into slumber so easily that night, put to rest by his words and proximity… now, he felt her watching him well into the darkest hours of the night. As though she were waiting for him to do something dreadful. But the moment he turned to meet her gaze through the shadows of his hut, she would close her eyes to him or turn away completely.

The rejection stung. Especially as no one else familiar enough with her here was being slighted at all. It was just he.

The sand shifted to his right; he didn't have to look to know who it was. He'd recognize the weight and gait of the king's footfalls anywhere. A goblet was held out to him as Odysseus joined him on the small dune and Achilles accepted it, but he didn't drink from it. He simply clasped it between both hands between his knees and continued to stare at the slowly sinking, Trojan sun.

"It is the last thing you want to hear from me, I know," Odysseus began, "but you also know I must say it. Agamemnon is growing impatient. He expects you to join in council now, far more often than you do."

"His desires do not concern me."

"You swore the man your sword."

The blond growled, "I agreed to fight, not plan his battles."

"Your Myrmidons have never seen defeat. He knows you're brilliant…" Odysseus shrugged, lifting his goblet to his lips. "He wants your input."

"I have nothing for him."

"Achilles, you were given what you wanted. Why provoke him?"

"She won't speak to me." Achilles felt Odysseus' frown, took a frustrated breath and elaborated from his Ithacan friend, "The girl. Cassandra. She won't speak to me."

Odysseus slowly shook his head, brows heavy over small green eyes. "She speaks of you often…"

"But not [to] me," Achilles stressed aggressively. Frustrated. Angry. "She's not said more than a handful of words to me in three days, and I had to drag those from her."

The older man made a thoughtful sound somewhere in the back of his throat, "I spoke with her this morning. She had Eudorus send for me… she wanted to walk the beach and asked that I joined her. She told me about the bathing incident," he gave what looked a lot like a smirk when Achilles finally turned his eyes to him. "She was very flustered. Have you thought perhaps she's simply embarrassed?"

"She's beyond that," Achilles shook his head.

"She's a woman. And a woman brought up a princess," Odysseus shook his head again, slowly, lips quirked as he explained what seemed commonsense to him. "She's not to be seen as you saw her by any man besides her husband. You are not her husband. I know it's hard, but you must try to understand how it must feel to be brought up your entire life obeying a preset order of how you should live and behave… and in five minutes time, that order was uprooted and upturned. A man walks in on you, and everything you were taught is destroyed. You are no longer completely pure."

"I did nothing to her," Achilles bristled.

"Well, that's good to hear, but it doesn't actually matter." Odysseus met the other man's steadily darkening glare. He sighed and bowed his head to the setting sun, "Were it that my son Telemachus had been a daughter, she would be raised same as Cassandra had." The king used one hand to gesture as he spoke, "She isn't a son; she can't inherit her father's throne. She can't rule. So, her worth amounts to whom she marries – most men want their woman pure, touched by none but them. And to a woman… if you've seen it, you might as well have touched it."

"It isn't about that," Achilles insisted with a tense jaw. "She doesn't act like woman robbed of her innocence. It's something else."

"Have you asked?" Achilles went still and silent, blue eyes dropping to the sand between himself and Odysseus. The king chucked around his goblet, emerald eyes glinting in amusement, "No? Then perhaps you should."

Achilles scowled. It just made Odysseus' chuckle mature into a low laugh, lips stretching across his face, teeth showing and the lines of his face dimpling in under his beard. It only made Achilles' scowl deepen and his hands tighten around his goblet.

"I've never seen you so reluctant to speak with a woman," Odysseus teased his friend. "Don't tell me Great Achilles is afraid?"

"I've killed men for suggesting far less," Achilles warned irritably. "Careful who you insult."

"My friend, for all the days I have known you I have insulted you. But," Odysseus' brows lifted to his forehead, goblet tilting to gesture at the warrior beside him, "as you are my friend, I will never hesitate to call you foolish when you are acting as such."

"And you think that not an insult?"

"Achilles," Odysseus ignored the question, looking hard at the other man's profile. "Anyone here who has spent more then a moment with Cassandra can see the girl thinks the world of you. It's beyond me how or even why, but she does. If you went to her honestly and asked, I am sure she would not deny you an equally honest answer concerning her behavior."

The uncharacteristic hesitance returned in the blond, tightening his shoulders and back. It was amusing to watch from Odysseus' point of view, but he knew it was probably nothing short of mortifying for Achilles. "How?"

"Gently. Sincerely." Odysseus smirked at the other, "And preferably with a kinder look than the one you're sporting now. I doubt any woman would be inclined to share anything with a man scowling at them like you are at me."

Odysseus remained with him on the sand until the sun vanished beneath the sea. When the king left, he took the two now empty goblets with him and retired to his own hut amongst his Ithacan soldiers. Achilles stayed put long after, watching the moon reflect off the ever calm waves beyond the beach and listening to the crackle of slowly dying fires with men began to settle for the night. He didn't make his way to his own hut until after everything had fallen into silence and all he could hear was the whispered lapping of the sea.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Despite his conversation with Odysseus in the sand, Achilles avoided opportunities to speak with Cassandra for another day. She'd been deep into sleep when he'd finally returned the night before and he'd left long before she'd woken in the morning. He'd found Patroclus and spent the morning sparing with his cousin, managing to relieve some tension and frustrations that way and he spent his noon meal eating with his men, doing his best to ignore his notice that Eudorus was not among them. And in the afternoon into the early evening he occupied his time with the kings in Agamemnon's tents – the men were divided as to whether or not they should continue this war with Troy now that Menelaus was dead and had no use for the wife he'd been robbed of.

Agamemnon had convinced half that continuing was in Greece's best interest. The rest, Odysseus included, were not so sure. It was a bore to Achilles, but at least it kept him partially distracted.

When he returned, Cassandra was not to be found. A twinge of concern pinched in his chest, but his irritation was greater and won the battle. He washed, ate his fill and slipped into the familiar routine of cleaning shields and greaves and sharpening blades that hardly needed sharpening. It provided him an hour to cool his anger and still his frustration; he didn't look up from his work until faint laughter and approaching steps in the sound reached his ears.

Cassandra came in with a face flushed from laughing and dark eyes alight with more than just the reflection of the fire smoldering in the pit in Achilles' hut. She bid a farewell to whomever had left her in the opening to the hut and her expression faltered just enough for Achilles to notice when she turned to find him watching her. He didn't say a word, simply returning to his work with every intention of ignoring the woman as she made herself ready for sleep.

The morning came and his day was repeated. Sparing with Patroclus, meal with the Myrmidons, minus Eudorus, and his afternoon wasted listening to kings argue before Agamemnon. In the evening he found his hut empty once more. He washed and ate and fought valiantly to ignore the fact that Cassandra's absence struck him hard between the eyes. When he recognized the sound of Odysseus approaching his hut from outside, Achilles ignored it as well, not looking up as the king entered. He began cleaning a blade that hadn't seen battle in nearly a week instead.

"She's with your cousin." Odysseus announced, shattering the silence around them. He sounded an interesting cross between amused and annoyed, and Achilles could feel the accusing heat in his eyes as he stared down at him. "Since I know you're too stubborn to ask, I thought I'd just tell you."

Achilles' hand stilled, interest piqued.

"They've developed a small bit of friendship in your absence."

The blond scowled; Patroclus had not mentioned this to him either this morning or the one before. Instead of dwelling on this withheld information from his cousin, Achilles shot a glare up at Odysseus. "My absence? I'm here, aren't I?" He gestured around with the point of the blade in his hand, "Do you see her anywhere? I'm the absent one?"

"You've been avoiding her."

"I have not."

"Lie to yourself if you must, friend. But do not think for a moment you can lie to me." Odysseus' face was stern, expression like something Achilles would expect to see from a father scolding a child. Realizing in this case it made him the child only made his temple pound and his jaw tighten. "You beat the sun in rising, take your meals outdoors, and spend your days in the company of bickering men."

"I seem to recall you advising my spending more time with such bickering men."

"Yes, and I am grateful you took it, but you are elsewhere when you could be righting things with her." Odysseus shook his head, "You express your discontent with her silence towards you, yet you've done nothing to change it. If anything, you've made it worse. Now you're sour that she finds company elsewhere."

Achilles only scowled at the other man.

"I've noticed things since I've known her. She is a social creature and she hungers for companionship; being alone troubles her." The king sighed, "She sends for me in the mornings, shares her meals with Eudorus and her days with your cousin."

"What should it matter if I avoid her then?" Achilles returned to sharpening his blade, "She seems to have found company enough."

"By the Gods you're a fool!" Odysseus' outburst stilled Achilles again, blue eyes meeting frustrated green. "She comes only to us because you are not here! There is no preference to our company! If she woke to you here she would not send for me. If you came in for meals, Eudorus would not be sharing the plate with her. Her day would go elsewhere, but she would share the evening with you if instead of coming here to mope after council, you went to her and Patroclus and walked with them." He thrust his arm out in front of him, the gesture jerky and irate, "The troubles in her towards you would be gone in a day if only you were not so stubborn!"

"She knows I am here," Achilles argued. "If she so wants my company, why isn't she here?"

"Why should she want to be?" Odysseus quarreled right back. "She is troubled and instead of asking and attempting to fix what is wrong, you've made a battle of this. You want her to break and come to you, but she isn't going to, Achilles. Why would she, if all you've done is show you don't want her to."

"I never said - "

"Actions speak far louder then words," Odysseus interrupted. "What do you think you say when you're gone before the day begins?"

Achilles' eyes narrowed on the other man's face, "How are you so certain of all this?"

"I'm married," Odysseus chuckled. "It teaches you many things."

Odysseus left him to his thoughts soon after that. Achilles could see that there was still light out and he knew without glancing outside that the sun would not be gone for another hour or so. Cassandra would remain away, with Patroclus apparently, until the light had gone completely from the sky. The blond set his blade aside, Odysseus' words burning through his mind – he knew he would find no rest tonight if he didn't do something to clear his head of them. He left his hut before instinct could meddle in the entire affair and challenge him to ignore the king's words and reprimand.

* * *

It's a bit shorter then other chapters, but I figured I'd go ahead and put it up since I've already made you all wait much longer then I should have. haha I swear I'm working on the next part, as we speak actually, so hopefully it'll get out in the next week or so too...

REVIEWS ARE WELCOME AND GREATLY LOVED - all errors found are my own. My apologies.


	12. News and Future Intent: UPDATE

So, this is not the chapter update I'm sure you were all expecting and hoping for. I'm sorry for the disappointment. I really am. I do, however, bring what I hope is good news to all:

This story WILL receive an update. It's been about a year and a half since that last happened, but a new chapter is in fact on its way.

Currently, I'm revising all previous chapters. A bit of a prologue has been added to the start and I'm cleaning up mistakes I missed while first writing this. Nothing massive is going to change overall with the already established plot, but hopefully the changes I do make will make for a tighter, clearer, better story.

The revisions won't take long and I sincerely intend for it all to be done and a new chapter to be finished and uploaded no later than April 10th. You guys have been much more patient than I deserve, and I have no right to ask for more, but I beg for patience just a little while longer.

Believer WILL continue.

Apologies for how long I've made you all wait, and sincere thanks for your patience,

Seyyed

**April 9, 2011 - UPDATE:**

As of right now, my plans to have Believer reviewed, edited and reposted with a new chapter was a bit more than I should have promised. I've reviewed almost all of the chapters, but I've found that I'm not very happy with them. At all. And, because of this, the new chapter hasn't even been started yet. So, sorry for the disappointment, but it's going to be a while longer before 'Believer' really gets anything going again.

I just really want to go back through this properly and pretty much rewrite the whole thing. I want it to be more dynamic and less dependent on the movie... so, yes. I'm rewriting it. And hopefully when it's all done in the indiscernible future, it'll be so much better than it is.

Apologies again,

Seyyed


End file.
